King Henry Overindulges At Dinner

Eels might not be your top choice for dinner, but you don’t live in medieval England.

King Henry I of England (1068-1135) did enjoy dining on eels. And they would be his end. But before you race to the end, take a minute to appreciate what Henry accomplished as king.

As the youngest son of William the Conqueror, he was not likely to inherit the crown. But through ruthless maneuvering, Henry took the throne of England while his older brother was on crusade, then on the brother’s return, Henry seized the duchy of Normandy and kept his big bro in prison for 28 years.

King Henry I was known as the “Lion of Justice” for his reform of the legal system. He enforced “the king’s peace,” which was as brutal as it sounds. He instituted the Exchequer, an auditing department which allowed English kings to collect more revenue from their subjects than any other contemporary European monarch.

Henry made peace with the Church while still maintaining a good deal of secular control and cracked down on clerical marriage. He must have had some interesting views on marriage, because he acknowledged at least 22 illegitimate children in his lifetime, more than any other English monarch in history.

(If King Charles III is reading this, consider the gauntlet thrown and the challenge made. But don’t worry, you still have time, your majesty.)

Given those accomplishments, it’s surprising that King Henry I may be best known for dying after eating “a surfeit of eels.” Yes, that’s right, he ate so many eels at a single meal that he died a few days later. His chroniclers said he was “inordinately fond” of eels. There weren’t all-you-can-eat buffet restaurants back then, but when you’re king, that’s your every meal.

So, eels.

Eels were a staple in the medieval diet, particularly in regions with many freshwater lakes and rivers like in England. People ate them in all kinds of ways: smoked, salted, or fresh. Probably not wrapped in rice and served as sushi, thankfully.

So, why eels? Why was them varmints good eatin’? In medieval Europe, everyone was a practicing Catholic, and the Church prescribed certain times like Lent when eating meat from land animals was forbidden. Eels were classified as fish, so they were allowed.

Eels were abundant and could be caught in nets in large quantities. They were popular with noble and peasant alike. They were easy to preserve in the days before refrigeration.

So, eels became a form of currency. Rents were demanded and paid in eels. 25 eels were a “stick,” and 10 sticks made a “bind.” One modern academic has created an interactive map showing where and when and to whom eels were owed.

Map created by Surprised Eel Historian

Now you might be thinking, “Wow, the next time I’m in England, I’m gonna order me up a big ‘ol plate of eels for dinner.” Well too bad. You can’t. They’re now a protected species.

Nitpicking historians want to point out that Henry probably ate lampreys, not eels. But everything back then was written in Latin (Eel is Anguilla in Latin), so it’s impossible to know exactly which slippery aquatic serpentine monster overflowed his plate. And if you look lampreys up online, you’ll discover that lampreys are even more gross than eels. So just let it go, nerds.

When you eat a business dinner, don’t overdo it.

Yes, it’s great that the boss is paying. No, you shouldn’t automatically order the most expensive thing. Yes, you can get dessert. No, you can’t put it directly into a to-go box “for the road.”

How do you know where to draw the line? Maybe an example would help. Say it’s the year 2003, and you’re at the AA Center in Dallas, enjoying your first chance to schmooze customers in your company’s luxury box while watching basketball.

A waiter brings in a platter of a dozen giant chocolate chip cookies. It probably cost $200. Can you have one? Of course! Can you have two? Maybe, but wait a while to give everyone a chance to get their first cookie.

Later, the refs give the Mavericks a bogus penalty call, so Mark Cuban runs out on the court to protest. Everyone rushes to the front of the box to see the action. The platter is unguarded, and nobody sees you scarf a third cookie.

With five minutes left in the game, you’ve gobbled at least half a dozen cookies as large as frisbees, when your boss says in a forceful whisper, “Dude, you’ve gotta stop eating those cookies.”

Having thus embarrassed The Company, you are not invited back to customer-facing events for almost a millennium.

Yeah, don’t do that.