by Bill Crawford Awhile back, I was munch-
ing out at a lawyer-filled barbecue when I chomped into a batter-fried item
that caught my taste buds by surprise. The bones were thin and long, kind of like a chicken wing
stretched out. The meat was soft and delicate, a cross between catfish and
pork. I poured myself a beer and helped myself to two more.
I poured myself another beer (for investigative purposes) and reflected on the
nature of the critter I had just inhaled. Could it have been the famous and
elusive Arizona Gulf javelina, whose long boney fingers are served with fried
bread during the kachina dances in the land of the Hopi? Perhaps it was the
nine-inch tall Oklahoma flamingo, from whose brightly colored fall plumage the
Red River got its name. No, no, no. It had to be the Houston chinchilla, who
thrives on the reedy banks of Buffalo Bayou and in the air conditioning ducts
of the Galleria.
After another beer (for digestive purposes) I decided to put an end to my
speculation. “What is this stuff?” I asked the gal serving up the delicate
morsels. “Frog legs,” she answered.
Frog legs. Images of voodoo, spanish moss, pirogues, alligators, bad horror
films, and Doug Kershaw immediately appeared before my eyes. “Oh, they must be
from Louisiana, right?” I asked. To my surprise the girl responded, “No. These
frog legs are from Bangladesh.”
Bangladesh. It only makes sense. The country is one big swamp, a vast delta
formed by the Ganges and the Brahmaputra Rivers, two of the biggest rivers in
Asia. Judging from the humongous size of the frog legs, which must have weighed
an eighth of a pound apiece, the monsoon floods and typhoons that are so bad
for the people of Bangladesh must be great for the frogs.
After my amphibious enlightenment, I spent many pleasant hours reflecting on
the Texas-Bangladesh connection. Huge frog ranches, spread out along the banks
of the Ganges. Frog hands sitting around a swampy campfire, eating rice and
singing “Get Along Little Froggies”, “Frog River Valley,” and “Froggy Went
a-Courtin.” Little tiny lariats for round-up time, and little tiny branding
irons with Bengali letters. A frog rodeo, complete with frog dogging, bareback
frog riding, and the ever-popular frog scramble.
A few days ago, I tried to get in contact with some of the frog wranglers in
Bangladesh. I called Mr. Rahman, the Commercial Officer at the Bangladesh
Embassy in Washington. “No, no. You are mistaken. Bangladesh does not export
frog legs. They are a banned item.”
A seafood wholesaler in Boston confirmed the sad news from the Embassy. It
turns out that the Bangladeshi frog boys were too good at their jobs. They
killed so many frogs that the mosquito population mushroomed. Itchy
environmentalists waged a campaign against the frog industry. They even
convinced George Harrison to perform a Concert for Bangladesh Frogs. Well, not
really. But the environmentalists did succeed in shutting down the frog
ranching operations in the Ganges delta.
Shaken by the news, I recalled that frog legs seemed to be a popular item in
the fancy restaurants just south of the border. I called McAllen and tracked
down “Mexico” Mike Nelson, who logs 30,000 road miles a year checking out
Mexico for Sanborn’s Insurance and is the author of More Than a Dozen of
Mexico’s Hidden Jewels.
“I’ve eaten at Sam’s in Reynosa for years,” said Mexico Mike, after clearing a
frog in his throat. “And I’ve always found they had the best frog legs on the
border.” According to Mexico Mike, the secret to Sam’s superior frog legs is
freshness. Every day, hundreds of frogs hop along route 138 through the
blistering heat of the Chihuahan desert to reach Reynosa. Well, not exactly.
Sam’s gets its fresh frogs from suppliers in Guasave, Sinoloa. But they arrive
by truck and plane, not by frog foot.
I still wondered why frog legs were a popular delicacy along the border. One
frog-savvy food broker in Austin suggested that folks like to catch or spade
frogs at Lake Falcon and other soggy spots. My own personal theory is that frog
legs are as much a part of Mexico’s heritage as Cinco de Mayo, the big Mexican
holiday commemorating a victory of Mexican troops over the French army. The
frog-leg-loving French army went on to conquer Mexico anyway. What more fitting
reminder of the French heritage in Mexico than the continued popularity of frog
legs?
I hopped on the Internet to check out my anthropological theory. I didn’t find
any definite answers, but I did come across the Virtual Frog Dissection Kit, at
http://george.ibl.gov/itg.hm.pg.docs/disscet/info.html. This sight offered a
cool frog builder game, but nothing about the cultural or culinary attributes
of the frog.
Back on the ground, I discovered that our Austin frog legs may not come from
Bangladesh any more, but they continue to be exotic. “Most of our frog legs
come from Asia – Indonesia or Taiwan,” explained Bill Crews of Groomer’s, a
wholesale seafood outlet located at 1151 Airport. Groomer’s sells frozen frog
legs in five-pound boxes for about $7 a pound. “You get about four to six
saddles per pound.” Saddles? “That’s what you call a pair of frog legs. They’re
connected at the top, kind of like a saddle.”
Eager to jump back in the frog legs saddle, I headed out to Gator’s on Bull
Creek, one of the places in town that regularly features frog legs on the menu.
The word is they don’t sell too many, but I had the lemon pepper frog legs.
They were tender and distinctly swampy little muscle morsels, like eating an
exotic bird on steroids.
Nancy Hanlan at Catfish Catering told me that the real frog fanciers of Austin
gather every other year for a frog legs party west of town. Turns out Nancy’s
frog legs were the ones that introduced me onto the world of frogs in the first
place. “We serve frog legs for 500 at that big party,” says Hanlan, who fries
her frog legs double-dipped in batter. “That’s a lot of people eating frog legs
at one time.” And how do the guests react? “Frog legs are a funny commodity.
People either love ’em or hate ’em.”
To paraphrase a timeless adage, “There’s no accounting for taste,” said the
old cowhand as he kissed his frog. n
This article appears in September 15 • 1995 and September 15 • 1995 (Cover).