Insects as a food source for the future is a recurring topic, but what does insect consumption look like in practice today? Soleil Ho, food critic for the San Francisco Chronicle and author of Meal: Adventures in Entomophagy, journeyed to Kushihara, a mountain village in Japan renowned for its seasonal wasp delicacy. This region offers a fascinating glimpse into the traditional practice of eating insects, centered around a creature often feared in the West.
The residents of Kushihara harbor a deep-seated fascination with wasps, specifically Vespula flaviceps, a species celebrated in Central Japan for its exceptional taste. In this secluded mountain village, wasps are revered as a seasonal wild food, akin to prized matsutake mushrooms, reaching their peak in late autumn when their nests are brimming with plump, larvae. This tradition offers a unique perspective on What Do Wasps Eat and how they, in turn, become a food source for humans.
In Western cultures, the concept of entomophagy, or insect-eating, typically revolves around “user-friendly” insects like crickets and mealworms. These insects are easily processed into familiar food formats such as flours, chips, and protein bars. The United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization’s 2013 landmark report highlighted entomophagy’s potential in creating a sustainable food source for a growing global population. This report spurred a race in the West to mainstream insect consumption, emphasizing insects’ nutritional value, sustainability, and efficiency. However, wasps, often perceived with fear and trepidation in the West, are rarely part of this conversation. Their formidable nature makes them seem like a less palatable option. So, why would anyone go through the effort of eating wasps? The answer lies in the unique cultural and culinary traditions of places like Kushihara.
During a visit to Kushihara in November, these questions lingered in my mind. Are wasps genuinely delicious? What makes them so significant to the people of Kushihara? And what does it signify to have such a close relationship with creatures typically feared in the West? Attending the town’s wasp festival, hebo matsuri, held annually on November 3rd, revealed the profound and meaningful nature of this relationship. For centuries, the people of this region have consumed and celebrated edible insects, a practice as commonplace as tending an apple tree in one’s backyard. This tradition highlights a different answer to what do wasps eat, as it extends beyond their diet to their role in a unique food culture.
Staying with Tetsuo and Sayoko Nakagaki, a Kushihara couple who cultivate wasps – locally known as hebo – in wooden boxes in their backyard, provided deeper insight. In spring, they venture into nearby forests to locate wild wasp nests, often initially the size of tennis balls, and carefully transplant them into these hive boxes. Here, the nests grow and flourish. Throughout the summer and fall, the hebo receive a consistent diet of sugar water, honey, and raw chicken meat, answering the question of what do wasps eat in captivity in Kushihara. Humans also provide protection from adverse weather and predators, creating a mutually beneficial arrangement for the wasps. The nests are ready for harvest when they become large and densely populated with larvae.
As Sayoko guided me through their garden, showcasing rows of beans, tomatoes, and peppers, it became clear that for them, wasp keeping was as natural as tending an apple tree. Consistent care and feeding throughout the year ensure a seasonal harvest of nature’s bounty, in this case, wasp larvae to fill their freezer. This illustrates a unique human-wasp interaction centered around what do wasps eat and how that diet contributes to their culinary value.
Japanese cuisine is often synonymous with seafood, particularly sushi and sashimi. However, Kushihara, nestled in Gifu prefecture, lies in the heart of landlocked Japan. Historically, residents of this region, far from the ocean, depended on foraging, hunting, and small-scale farming of vegetables and rice for sustenance. Wasp rearing has historically been a vital part of their seasonal food cycle. Today, however, this tradition is primarily maintained by older generations, like Tetsuo, in their sixties.
The Nakagakis’ story mirrors a common pattern in the area. Their adult children have sought opportunities in bustling cities, while their parents uphold the traditional way of life in their rural homes. Tetsuo is also an avid hunter of another local insect delicacy: Japanese giant hornets, known as osuzumebachi. While adult hornets are not typically eaten, their larvae are highly prized. They possess a rich, meaty flavor and a texture reminiscent of shrimp. This expands the understanding of edible insects in the region beyond just wasps, and introduces another element to what do wasps eat – and what eats them.
In preparation for the annual hebo matsuri, organizers Shoko and Daisuke Miyake were busy creating the event’s signature dish: gohei mochi, grilled sticky rice cakes. I visited their home to observe them and their daughters making the tare, or sauce, for the mochi. When asked about the quantity of gohei mochi planned for the festival, Shoko mentioned an astonishing 1,300.
The Miyake family’s tare recipe is a testament to generations of culinary wisdom. Daisuke meticulously hand-grinds peanuts into a paste using a wooden pestle in a grooved bowl called a suribachi. The children assist by grinding wasp larvae in a smaller suribachi. The sauce is a blend of equal parts soy sauce, white sugar, peanut butter, year-old miso, ginger, and the mashed hebo larvae. The Miyake children have grown up participating in this culinary tradition, evident in their eagerness to sample the sauce. The mashed larvae impart a subtle richness to the sauce, their delicate flavor blending seamlessly with the dominant saltiness. However, the true flavor revelation awaits the grilling process. This unique sauce, incorporating wasp larvae, is a key element in understanding the nuanced answer to what do wasps eat in Kushihara’s culinary context.
The following day, I joined Shoko and her team at the community center to help prepare the 1,300 mochi needed for the festival. The process began with washing and steaming 200 pounds of locally grown Kushihara rice. Two individuals rhythmically pounded the hot rice with wooden pestles in a tub. This mochi differs from the commercially available sweet bean paste-filled variety; it has a firm, toothy texture akin to steel-cut oats. The pounded rice is then portioned into 5-ounce balls, molded around flat cedar sticks, and left to air-dry in wooden boxes until a slight crust forms. This labor-intensive process is repeated 1,299 times.
Shoko, originally from the nearby town of Akechi, dedicates herself to this work because she believes in the festival’s importance to the community. While wiping cedar sticks for the next batch of mochi, she shared the festival’s history and the wasp rearing tradition. She explained that the hebo contest was once a competition to find the largest wild nest, but finding substantial nests has become increasingly challenging due to pesticide use, growing popularity, and environmental changes. This shift highlights the changing dynamics of what do wasps eat in the wild and the impact of environmental factors on traditional practices.
On the day of the festival, the 1,300 gohei mochi are grilled, brushed with Shoko’s family sauce, and grilled again. The wasp larvae flavor is subtle, but the grilling process enhances their sweet, nutty notes. The popularity of the gohei mochi stall was evident in the consistently long lines. While some attendees, like myself, were curious onlookers, most were locals deeply familiar with this tradition. The festival felt more like a community gathering than a mere food attraction, with genuine participation from locals like Tetsuo and Shoko, who viewed it as an opportunity to connect with friends and celebrate the autumn season.
The highlight of the festival is undoubtedly the hebo contest. Inside a large mesh tent, festival staff meticulously extract each participant’s nest from its wooden box and place it in a clear garbage bag. The nests are then weighed in front of an eager crowd, the weights announced, and the bags labeled. The atmosphere is relaxed yet filled with anticipation. Tetsuo mentioned that most nests weigh around two kilograms, or five pounds. However, the winning nest tipped the scales at an impressive six and a half kilograms, or 14 pounds. When asked about the winner’s prize, Tetsuo simply shrugged and said, “street cred.” His own nest weighed about two kilograms, and he jokingly attributed the smaller size to his lack of time for full-time wasp tending due to his job.
While waiting in line for gohei mochi, I encountered Joost van Itterbeeck, a Belgian researcher and co-author of the FAO report that sparked the edible insect movement. He inquired about my general impression of the growing interest in insects in Western cultures. I expressed my reservations about the current approach, often based on flawed thinking and advertising. He concurred. I shared my observation that many in the United States seemed primarily interested in insects as a powder, which I found disheartening as it overlooks the enjoyable texture and flavor of whole insects. Masking insects as something inherently distasteful, rather than celebrating their unique qualities, reduces them to mere nutritional supplements. Joost agreed, acknowledging that the current focus is indeed on insects as a nutritional supplement, rather than a culinary experience. This conversation highlights a disconnect between Western approaches to entomophagy and the deeply cultural and flavorful traditions of places like Kushihara, where understanding what do wasps eat is integral to appreciating their culinary value.
It was validating to hear Joost share similar concerns. My reservations about the Western edible insect industry were a driving force behind my journey to Kushihara. Our conversation left me with the sense that he felt a degree of regret for his role in transforming edible insects into a mere trend.
After the festival, we accompanied Tetsuo to sell a portion of his nest to a local restaurant. The market price for a wasp nest is approximately $36 per pound, but the labor-intensive larvae extraction is the seller’s responsibility. Despite the potential to sell the entire nest, Tetsuo opted to keep half for his family. Back at his house, Sayoko covered the dinner table with newspaper, Tetsuo opened barley beers, and we began the task of extracting larvae from the nests.
The nest sections resembled broken pomegranates, filled with glistening larvae arranged in hexagonal cells instead of seeds. Older larvae were more developed, with discernible features, while younger ones were plump, wiggly grubs. We spent the evening plucking larvae with tweezers, engaging in conversation, and watching TV. Occasionally, a fully formed adult wasp would emerge, and Tetsuo swiftly dispatched it with his tweezers. The process became almost meditative, a rhythmic pluck, pluck, pluck.
Once we had accumulated a substantial pile of larvae, Sayoko simmered them in a pot with sugar, sake, chopped ginger, and soy sauce – a cooking method called tsukudani, used for various ingredients, not just insects. The first batch slightly burned, prompting a second attempt. This time, we attentively watched the pot as she cooked, eyeballing the ingredients and simmering them for about 11 minutes, just long enough for the larvae to absorb the flavors and firm up. The cooked larvae lost their buttery taste, developing a meatier texture, similar to ground chicken. For the people of Kushihara, a generous serving of tsukudani wasp larvae atop steamed rice is the quintessential fall dish. This preparation method further transforms the answer to what do wasps eat into a complex culinary experience.
This approach to edible insects is far removed from futuristic visions and lacks the efficiency to feed a global population. Instead, wasp culture in Kushihara is deeply rooted in the present moment, tied to a specific place and time. Wasps, above all, are a fleeting symbol of the autumn season. Months are spent cultivating nests, culminating in the moment of tasting a raw larva, experiencing its burst of honey-butter flavor. This tradition underscores a different perspective on what do wasps eat and their place in a seasonal food cycle, contrasting sharply with the Western focus on insects as a year-round, mass-produced food source.
The Splendid Table guest producer Soleil Ho is the food critic for the San Francisco Chronicle and co-host of the Racist Sandwich podcast. Reporting for this piece was supported by the UC Berkeley-11th Hour Food and Farming Journalism Fellowship. Recording assistance provided by Chris Farstad. Learn more about Soleil’s writing project MEAL: Adventures in Entomophagy, a graphic novel about eating bugs drawn by Blue Delliquanti.
