Friday, March 24, 2006
The Ice Worm is Alive and Well!
Robert Service popularized the ice-worm in his Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail. Service described Percy Brown as a dandy who had come to Dawson Town. Within a week of his arrival he was claiming to be a sourdough—a title that irked the old-timers to no end. They set a trap for Mr. Brown the next time he entered the Malamute Saloon. They whooped and hollered and told him that to be a true sourdough, he must first down an Ice-Worm Cocktail. Service told us exactly what Brown saw in a jar filled with ice worms. "Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red;
Their backs were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head.
And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out,
It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout."
Brown who was now feeling more than a little squeamish avowed that no one would dare imbibe such a drink. The bartender fixed four cocktails, and three of them were quickly consumed by three regulars including Sheriff Black and Deacon White. Then every eye was turned to Brown to see what he would do. With a hesitant hand he finally forced the ice-worm cocktail down his throat. An opportunity soon presented itself and he made his break never to return to the Malamute Saloon. The ice worm that he had downed was nothing other than “ a stick of stained spaghetti with two red ink spots for eyes.”
About a hundred years later a repairman came to service the icemaker on our refrigerator. He coated the surface with some petroleum jelly. When the first batch of ice appeared, there in the midst of all those cubes were what appeared to be greasy ice worms. At least that is what my wife called them.
There really are ice worms. However, they are not four feet in length—not even four inches. The largest of the species is black and grows to a mere four-tenths of an inch. Research shows that they can move through a glacier like knife through butter. Raise the temperature above 32 degrees and they dissolve into goo. Now they are being studied for medicinal purposes. Pop them into a jigger of booze and down them like a pill. On the other hand, why mess up a good jigger of booze.
Worms and alcohol do mix quite well. Everyone has tasted or heard of the worm in the bottle of Tequila. Only thing it is not so. The worm is actually found in a bottle of mescal and technically speaking mescal is not Tequila although Tequila is mescal. The worm in the bottle is actually a butterfly caterpillar—which may be either red or gold. The red is considered superior in taste. The worm was probably first placed in the bottle to mask the chemical taste of poorly produced mescal. In recent times the worm in the bottle has become a marketing gimmick. It is free of pesticides and has been pickled in alcohol for a least a year. On the other hand one should probably not believe everything one reads—especially after three or four shots of mescal or Tequila or whatever.
The lowly earthworm may not compare in reputation to the ice-worm or the Tequila caterpillar, but it does have its moments. Twenty or so years ago a now defunct marketing group known as the “Earthworm Growers Association,” at least that is the name that I remember, came up with a novel way to sell more earthworms. Clean them by putting them in a cup of cornmeal and then use them as a key ingredient in certain recipes—Applesauce Surprise Cake comes to mind. When Grant Teaff was football coach at Baylor University he used earthworms to motivate his team at halftime. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of the squeamish things and popped them into his mouth. I don’t remember the speech—only the act itself. He did get his team motivated. Of course, he let the earthworms eat their way through a cup of corn meal to purge them of any impurities and then ran them under some water. To commemorate this unforgettable moment in sports history some Baylor fans have proposed the creation of a bronze statue of Teaff with a worm in his hand reaching toward his mouth. What I need right now is a good stiff drink of—uh—better make that coffee.
.
Robert Service popularized the ice-worm in his Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail. Service described Percy Brown as a dandy who had come to Dawson Town. Within a week of his arrival he was claiming to be a sourdough—a title that irked the old-timers to no end. They set a trap for Mr. Brown the next time he entered the Malamute Saloon. They whooped and hollered and told him that to be a true sourdough, he must first down an Ice-Worm Cocktail. Service told us exactly what Brown saw in a jar filled with ice worms. "Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red;
Their backs were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head.
And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out,
It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout."
Brown who was now feeling more than a little squeamish avowed that no one would dare imbibe such a drink. The bartender fixed four cocktails, and three of them were quickly consumed by three regulars including Sheriff Black and Deacon White. Then every eye was turned to Brown to see what he would do. With a hesitant hand he finally forced the ice-worm cocktail down his throat. An opportunity soon presented itself and he made his break never to return to the Malamute Saloon. The ice worm that he had downed was nothing other than “ a stick of stained spaghetti with two red ink spots for eyes.”
About a hundred years later a repairman came to service the icemaker on our refrigerator. He coated the surface with some petroleum jelly. When the first batch of ice appeared, there in the midst of all those cubes were what appeared to be greasy ice worms. At least that is what my wife called them.
There really are ice worms. However, they are not four feet in length—not even four inches. The largest of the species is black and grows to a mere four-tenths of an inch. Research shows that they can move through a glacier like knife through butter. Raise the temperature above 32 degrees and they dissolve into goo. Now they are being studied for medicinal purposes. Pop them into a jigger of booze and down them like a pill. On the other hand, why mess up a good jigger of booze.
Worms and alcohol do mix quite well. Everyone has tasted or heard of the worm in the bottle of Tequila. Only thing it is not so. The worm is actually found in a bottle of mescal and technically speaking mescal is not Tequila although Tequila is mescal. The worm in the bottle is actually a butterfly caterpillar—which may be either red or gold. The red is considered superior in taste. The worm was probably first placed in the bottle to mask the chemical taste of poorly produced mescal. In recent times the worm in the bottle has become a marketing gimmick. It is free of pesticides and has been pickled in alcohol for a least a year. On the other hand one should probably not believe everything one reads—especially after three or four shots of mescal or Tequila or whatever.
The lowly earthworm may not compare in reputation to the ice-worm or the Tequila caterpillar, but it does have its moments. Twenty or so years ago a now defunct marketing group known as the “Earthworm Growers Association,” at least that is the name that I remember, came up with a novel way to sell more earthworms. Clean them by putting them in a cup of cornmeal and then use them as a key ingredient in certain recipes—Applesauce Surprise Cake comes to mind. When Grant Teaff was football coach at Baylor University he used earthworms to motivate his team at halftime. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of the squeamish things and popped them into his mouth. I don’t remember the speech—only the act itself. He did get his team motivated. Of course, he let the earthworms eat their way through a cup of corn meal to purge them of any impurities and then ran them under some water. To commemorate this unforgettable moment in sports history some Baylor fans have proposed the creation of a bronze statue of Teaff with a worm in his hand reaching toward his mouth. What I need right now is a good stiff drink of—uh—better make that coffee.
.
