Ambergris

When it comes to food, some people have 'strange habits'. How else would you describe the fact that there are nutcases out there, willing to pay a shitload of money for ambergris? For those of you who are not (yet) familiar with this culinary delight, let me first ask you a simple question: how does ambergris sound to you?

French?

Erhm, let me see, Sherlock.

Yes.

Ridiculously obvious associations: plus one.

But my point here, is that the word itself already sounds delicious doesn't it? Imagine this: “ambergris shavings on a seaweed cracker floating in Chinese lily flower broth”. Sounds delicious to me. Or how about “roasted ambergris flakes in a foamy Belgian white chocolate milkshake”? Sounds even better. In case of an emergeny, I would even settle for a late-night home delivery pizza with ambergris sauce. That sounds a bit sick indeed, but once you're ready to order this you are probably too drunk to realize that anyway.

The thing is – and let's be honest, it should be the only thing you are ever willing to give the French credit for: no matter what you are planning to serve for dinner on a first date, just give it a fancy French name and you are bound to get laid. So when I first read about the endless possibilities of ambergris in the kitchen, I was already envisioning myself in hot, steamy, mind- and other spongy-matter-blowing sex scenes.

Until I found out that ambergris is basically – and I kid you not – vomit from a sperm whale. Feel free to make your own jokes about Moby Dick at this point... Vomit from a sperm whale: that means at least two words I did not want to read in combination with 'one spoonful per person'. Just in case you're still interested, let me share a few technical details with you. First of all, ambergris starts off as a white fatty substance with a strong fecal smell. This could be me being a bit picky, but anything that even remotely matches the description of bird poo, is excluded from my menu. Okay? Secondly – and this shit is really getting better – the white fatty substance is supposed to age a few years in the ocean. I assume that you're all familiar with the following experience: you open the fridge, a not too-familiar-looking jar in the back somehow grasps your attention and upon closer inspection you notice that its shelf life ended when it was still okay to wear a mullet.

A few years ago, that is.

At that point we all have the same reflex, right?

We put the jar back in the fridge.

So when I'm having a romantic stroll along a moonlit tropical beach, holding hands with a beautiful woman who just had a delicious French-sounding dinner, and I bump into a smelly white ball that looks like it has been ageing for a few years, I tend to let it be. Or push it back into the sea, at most. Under no circumstance however, would I feel inclined to take it home with me and start experimenting with it in the kitchen. Especially not when you know that, as a result of the ageing process, the precursor of ambergris acquires its typical crusty, waxy texture and animalic odour. Not very surprisingly, of course. I grew up with my grandparents, so this is firsthand knowledge: everything becomes waxy and crusty when you leave it unattended for a few years.

Oddly enough – as in 'how the fuck is this possible' – ambergris can cost around thousands of dollars for a small lump. If these sperm whales weren't the big monstrously huge animals they are, the first thing I'd buy in the morning is a fish tank. A fish tank, and a sperm whale. And even if I would have to feed it rare cask strength single malt whisky's: I would not stop before owning an intoxicated sperm whale.

- “Yes Moby, daddy loves you.”

Petting it, all day long.

- “And now puke, goddamnit. PUKE!”

Thousands of dollars!

For a lump of vomit from a big fat mammal with a head that takes up one third of its total body length: sounds like a few Americans may consider a fruitful job change. You can only hope that these ambergris-buying flapheads have the decency to send a postcard to the undernourished part of our world, next time they go to the Bahamas to buy their salty balls.

“Dear friend,

I've just spent your country's Gross National Product on a bucket of exclusive French-sounding stuff.

PS: enjoy your weekly bowl of rice!”

I guess this is the point where the posh ambergris-lovers start raising their subtly trimmed eyebrows.

- Rice? William, what is rice?

- Well, Asquith, do you remember that city trip in Tokyo, when you wanted to try sushi?

- Of course I do!

- Well, it's the white stuff underneath the fish.

- Aha, you mean 'le riz'?