Plot Summary
Chapter 65 of Moby-Dick opens with Ishmael reflecting on the strangeness of Stubb eating whale steak by the light of the whale's own oil. Intrigued by this paradox, Ishmael decides to explore the "history and philosophy" of whale meat as food. He traces the culinary reputation of whale back three centuries, noting that the tongue of the Right Whale was once a prized delicacy in France and that a cook in Henry VIII's court won a reward for inventing a sauce for barbecued porpoises. He observes that porpoise meat, spiced and shaped into balls, was enjoyed by the monks of Dunfermline under a royal grant.
Whale Meat Among Hunters and Cultures
Ishmael explains that whalemen would consider whale a noble dish were it not for the sheer overwhelming quantity of meat—sitting before a "meat-pie nearly one hundred feet long" dampens the appetite. Only the most unprejudiced men, like Stubb, eat cooked whale. The Esquimaux, however, live upon whale meat and blubber without reservation, and their doctor Zogranda even recommends strips of blubber for infants. Ishmael recounts how stranded Englishmen in Greenland survived on mouldy whale scraps, which Dutch whalemen call "fritters" for their crisp, doughnut-like appearance and aroma.
The Richness of the Whale
What further diminishes whale as a "civilized dish," Ishmael argues, is its excessive richness. The whale's hump, though comparable to buffalo hump, is too fatty to be delicate. The spermaceti is creamy and bland, resembling young coconut meat, but far too rich for butter. Still, sailors absorb it into ship-biscuit and fry it in the oil-pots during long night watches. Ishmael also describes how the brains of a small Sperm Whale are mixed with flour and cooked into a dish resembling calves' head—leading to a witty aside about young epicures who dine on calves' brains.
The Cannibalism Argument
The chapter's philosophical climax arrives when Ishmael challenges the disgust that "landsmen" feel toward eating whale. He argues that the first man to slaughter an ox was surely seen as a murderer, and he asks readers to consider Saturday-night meat-market crowds staring at rows of dead animals. "Cannibals? who is not a cannibal?" Ishmael exclaims, declaring that a Fijian who salted a missionary is more forgivable than the "civilized and enlightened gourmand" who nails geese to the ground for pâté de foie gras. He closes by noting the hypocrisy of eating roast beef with knife handles made from ox bone and picking teeth with a feather from the same goose one just devoured.