Like many items of haute cuisine, escargots and caviar are acquired tastes. Although, as an anthropologist, I believe that taste is learned, I would argue that humans are innately averse to eating organisms so primordial as a slug with a foot on its stomach or the bulbous ova of a sturgeon.
And yet, the French have made these slimy things into delicacies. And we Americans take them for their word that they are delicacies, adopting them as a symbol of worldliness—often altering them to fit into our own cultural contexts in ways that many might consider, well, gauche. Growing up, I did not know anything about their cultural trappings; to me, these items are the epitome of Christmas.
This tradition on my mom’s side of the family is likely the most distinguished of the “Hammond clan,” other examples of which include burning toast and stopping everything to reorganize the cutlery drawer (those last two are, of course, related). I cannot remember a single Christmas Day during my childhood when I did not gather with fifteen to twenty extended family members in my grandparents’ Pasadena living room, crowding around the coffee table with glasses of champagne, waiting our turn to grab a few gastropods with the unwieldy, yet perfectly snail-shell-sized tongs or to get a few pieces of tiny toast smeared with just the right balance of caviar and cream cheese (yes, cream cheese).
I don’t remember learning the correct way to eat snails, but I know that proper form is the following: first, get a good hold on the hot shell with the snail tongs. Then, grab the foot-tongue with a tiny two-pronged fork (both implements I now realize my grandparents procured only for this annual occasion, and of course keep in the correct part of the cutlery drawer), and pry the little guy out of his shell without splashing the hot garlic butter on your fancy clothes or the white shag carpet. Pop it in and enjoy the combination of juicy and tough (like an oyster but not as slimy) meat, and then lean your head back and open wide to empty the shell of its remaining “snail butter” before returning the empty home to its bed of rock salt—upside down so the rest of the scavengers know that shell has been evacuated.
After a few snails, it is appropriate to move on to the caviar—usually for us a combination of salmon (orangey-red colored and slightly larger) and sturgeon (smaller and black) laid out on a layer of cream cheese spread on a plate. (I am only learning this year, upon doing research for this story, that the French did not intend for caviar to be eaten this way, and a few new entrants to the tradition have been horrified by this presentation. They can keep their pearl spoons in their own cutlery drawers). While the caviar was never my favorite—a bit salty for me—it is as much a requirement as the snails in the Christmas Day ritual.
In my early days, I remember one plate of “black,” and one plate of “red,” but as we got older and the grandkids (my generation) began to assist with its preparation, we got a bit more creative, doing half and half or attempting a yin yang symbol. As in-laws were integrated into the tradition, Jay raised the bar significantly with the “caviart.” I have come to enjoy the particular experience of taking that first dive into his eggy canvas, particularly in a place that mixes red and black, smearing it on a tiny toast, and squeezing some lemon on top. Yum.
It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized nobody else I know partakes in this combination of delicacies on Christmas, and indeed, it is a litmus test to see if a prospective mate is accepted into the Hammond clan. Over the years, we have accommodated vegetarians by making one or two trays of mushroom-stuffed snail shells, but vegan caviar is beyond the snail.
It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized nobody else I know partakes in this combination of delicacies on Christmas, and indeed, it is a litmus test to see if a prospective mate is accepted into the Hammond clan. Over the years, we have accommodated vegetarians by making one or two trays of mushroom-stuffed snail shells, but vegan caviar is beyond the snail.
This year, I interviewed my mom (Lane) and her living brothers (Bruce and Kirk) to get a history of how this started. I learned that the tradition goes back sixty years!
“I think it was back in about 1965, after we returned from our year living in Italy and traveling throughout Western and Eastern Europe,” she told me. “We had pretty adventurous food experiences in every country we visited. I’m sure we had escargots in France. I have a memory of a meal in Germany when we confused the word schinken (ham) with the word schnecken (snails) and ended up with an unexpected but delicious meal.
“Grolly’s [Grandma Polly’s] mother and father were world travelers and very interested in other countries. They both had a particular affinity for France, and both of them spoke fairly decent French. They also always celebrated Christmas with the Hammond family in Pasadena.
“I remember that Grolly and Granddad bought the silver champagne glasses in Spain on our Christmas 1964 holiday travels, and in my memory those silver champagne glasses were always a part of the escargots and caviar experience. Grolly and Granddad also bought the paella pans [in which the escargots are cooked and served] in Spain on that same trip.
Though many cook the snails in their own shells, leaving them alive right up until they are tossed in the pot like lobster, we “forage” them in local groceries, or Amazon in a pinch. The shells are washed, boiled, and used year after year.
“Once you’ve purchased all those escargot shells and gone through the multi-step process of cleaning them, they just had to be used again!” my mom reasoned. “And if you’ve also gone to the expense of getting a whole bunch of escargots tongs, what else can you use those for?!”
No matter where we celebrate Christmas, the snail shells, paella pans, escargots tongs and forks, and the Spanish champagne glasses must all be transported to the location of the celebration.
Of course, the tradition is about more than just eating. As Bruce recounted, “It was an occasion where there were sincere and, often in later years, very funny toasts of celebration as well as of gratitude. This was also kind of a coming-of-age marker too, as each year more of the ‘kids’ came into their own willingness to share thoughts into the circle of this gathering as well as to graduate from apple juice to champagne (at an age younger than you might think).”
Various life events have kept the Hammond clan from gathering year after year. The main event has transferred to Cotati, California, with Bruce’s family, but there are satellite celebrations in Aurora, Colorado; Oceanside, California; Washington, D.C.; Zurich, Switzerland; and even in my uncle’s ex-wife’s RV, which may be anywhere from Alaska to Arizona!
In December 2020, the various family “pods” united as best they could amid the pandemic, with a Zoom meeting facilitating toasts both sincere and humorous. I was in D.C., a six-hour flight from the closest Hammond, braving the first Christmas I ever spent alone. Though I was able to find some caviar at Safeway, there was no chance I was going to attempt the escargots preparation alone. Right before our scheduled Zoom gathering, there was a knock at my door, and a delivery of escargots from Le Diplomat, ordered by my brother, instantly made me feel like I was with family.
As my mom sums it up: “At this point, five generations have experienced this celebratory tradition. This tradition unites us, as we all participate in the whole process. It’s like a spiritual ritual with many parts.”
There are variations. My cousin’s husband was aghast at the use of cream cheese with caviar, so they’ve introduced pearl spoons. Her sister has always preferred the mushrooms and prioritizes those. I much prefer the convenience of French restaurants to the “ritual” of stuffing and cleaning the snail shells. But the components of the ritual continue. It’s up to the sixth generation now, as they approach the precipice of adulthood, to decide whether it is a tradition worth continuing in their own lives, though the method, the people, and the surroundings will undoubtedly change.
Escargots in Butter
This recipe comes from the can of escargots, The only “Hammond” thing that’s unique is probably some extra sherry. Yield: 4 servings.
Ingredients
1 cup (2 sticks) European-style butter, room temperature
1 tablespoon dry white wine or sherry
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground
Pinch of ground nutmeg
12 garlic cloves, very finely chopped
1 large shallot, finely chopped
3/4 cup parsley, finely chopped
24 large empty escargots shells
24 extra-large canned escargots, preferably from Burgundy
Preparation
Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
Using an electric mixer on medium, beat butter in a medium bowl until smooth. With motor off, add wine or sherry, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, then beat on medium until incorporated. Reduce speed to low and add garlic, shallot, and parsley; mix just until incorporated.
Place shells in a single layer in a shallow 2-quart baking dish on top of a layer of rock salt or kosher salt. Use your fingers to put 1 to 2 teaspoons garlic-parsley butter into each. Tuck a snail inside each shell, then put in more garlic-parsley butter to fill shell and mound over top.
Bake until snails are sizzling and garlic in butter no longer tastes raw, about 10 to 15 minutes. Serve immediately and let cool 5 minutes (or longer if you have to listen to speeches).
Note: shells can be filled 1 day ahead. Cover and chill. Bring to room temperature before baking.
Logan Elizabeth Clark is the special projects and content manager at Smithsonian Folkways Recordings.
