Jellied Eels, Really?

I have no trouble with the idea of eating eels. To be frank, Unagi, the Japanese grilled version which is boneless and highly caramelized with a sweet soy-based glaze, is one of my favorite foods. The fish is very fatty, and has a strikingly bold flavo(u)r that is not fishy or overpowering. The texture is also firm-enough, not exactly disintegrating on the tongue, but requires a bit of pressure on the palate before that happens.

Then there are the sapid freshwater eels prepared in a savory rice porridge -- called jook in Cantonese -- served steaming hot and scintillatingly warming to the soul. The flesh is white, soft, smooth and surprisingly sweet. Clearly, I am no stranger to eating eels. This was until I encountered eels in a certain British permutation -- jellied.

Those, in the above image, are jellied eels.  Seeing how grizzly they look, one obvious question comes to mind: what on earth inspired me to try jellied eels? The answer to this question is manifold, and arguably inspired.

For one, since Ely is such an important place in Cambridgeshire (it is where the Bishop of the local Diocese calls his headquarters), and since it is known for having so many eels, and having visited Ely in Michaelmas, I have been hoping to try a local eel dish. Jellied eels were mentioned by one of my friends as a local phenomenon. However, this does not make them easy to find anywhere around Cambridge or Ely (just as baked beans are basically non-existant in Boston, despite being called Beantown). Nevertheless, the idea of eating eels in Cambridge is very natural, especially if you think about the flat bogginess of the Cantabrigian terrain -- there must be so many eels writhing about the wet land. I want to try the fruits of this strange land.

Another reason why I got the jellied eels is because the idea of "jellying" a fish, in and of itself, sounds absolutely horrid. And as nasty as the idea of a jellied fish may be, the urge to taste how horrible it can be is even stronger. (I have a knack for trying how nasty something tastes despite it being obvious that it is a bad idea to taste it.)

My final reason for why I ate the jellied eels is because it was on sale for 50p, from an original price of £1.09 or something like that. If they turned out to be terrible (highly likely), then at least they will have been a cheap gustatory thrill. If they turned out to be terribly delicious (highly unlikely), then I will have discovered an affordable passion.

The eel comes in 1 inch segments/chunks, enshrined in a turbid, slightly salty, firm-yet-giving jelly. The bones are still in the fish, presenting mechanical and textural issues when eating the stuff because they jabbed at my palate when I ate them. Since they were still in the jellied fish, I assumed that the bones are meant to be eaten. The fish texture itself was firm, probably due to it being cold, and uninterestingly smooth, despite the presence of sharp bones. There was nothing in the flavo(u)r of the eel that makes it characteristically eel-like. It tasted like every left over fish. The flesh also has a left-over texture about it -- gelatinous of its own accord, as cooked fishes become when left in the fridge just overnight. I ate the jellied eel with a spoon, as one would eat a pudding cup, digging into the jelly, and scooping up parts of the eel with the clear jelly surrounding it. The combination of soft tasteless gelatinous fish flesh with a slightly salty jelly encasing it is unremarkable, though not disgusting. It was simply bland and uninteresting in texture and flavo(u)r, despite the constant surprise of bones poking at the roof of my mouth or gums. I grade this dish "boring" to taste, but "exceedingly disgusting, yet amusing" in terms of presentation and texture.

Will I have jellied eels again? Why not?! However, I would never get out of my way to get jellied eels, ever.