The Gathering Storm: Prelude to Famine

In the autumn of 1870, Paris stood encircled by Prussian forces, a city once celebrated as the capital of European civilization now facing an existential crisis. The Franco-Prussian War had reached its critical juncture, with Emperor Napoleon III captured at Sedan and a new Government of National Defense scrambling to organize resistance. Otto von Bismarck, the shrewd Prussian chancellor, had predicted that Paris’s bourgeois population would collapse after “eight days without coffee with milk”—a cynical underestimation of human resilience, yet a telling insight into the psychological warfare accompanying military siege.

The city’s initial optimism, fueled by patriotic fervor and belief in eventual relief, gradually gave way to grim reality. Defense planners had prepared for a siege lasting no more than two months, stockpiling limited supplies and relying on the myth of Parisian invincibility. By early December, as the 100th day of encirclement approached, the conversation in salons and streets alike turned from military strategy to a single, desperate theme: food. The literary chronicler Edmond de Goncourt captured this shift in his diary on December 8, noting how discussions now revolved entirely around what one could eat, what might still be available, and how to obtain it. The abstract notion of national honor had been replaced by the immediate urgency of empty stomachs.

From Abundance to Desperation: The Vanishing Larder

Paris in September 1870 presented a markedly different picture from the starving metropolis of December. The city’s parks and open spaces had been filled with vast herds of cattle and sheep, brought inside the fortifications as a emergency measure. The Bois de Boulogne resembled a rural pasture rather than an urban pleasure ground. But as the siege dragged on, these visible symbols of abundance gradually disappeared into the cooking pots of a hungry population.

Fresh vegetables became virtually unobtainable, with enterprising “foragers” risking German sniper fire to scavenge in the no-man’s-land beyond the city walls. These expeditions, conducted under protection of mobile guards, offered a daily wage of one franc—a testament to both the desperation of the workers and the value placed on any fresh produce. Augustus O’Shea, an American observer, recorded the surreal sight of a well-dressed glove salesman from Martinique whom he had encountered months earlier on the fashionable Rue de la Paix, now transformed into a ragged forager stumbling under a net full of cauliflower.

Dairy products became distant memories. The American minister Washburne nostalgically recalled the doughnuts and hot rolls of Proctor’s establishment, while at a November concert, another foreign diplomat witnessed a young lady receiving a piece of cheese instead of flowers—a courtship offering that spoke volumes about shifting values in a city where gastronomy had once defined cultural sophistication.

The Equine Revolution: How Horse Meat Became Fashionable

The transition to alternative food sources began gradually in October, when horse meat—previously marketed four years earlier as cheap nourishment for the poor—entered mainstream Parisian cuisine. The Central Commission of Hygiene and Salubrity organized a highly publicized banquet to promote equine consumption, featuring an elaborate menu that included clear horse broth, cabbage with horse meat, braised horse leg, stewed horse bones, roasted horse loin, and cold salted horse beef. This official endorsement transformed social attitudes almost overnight.

What began as necessity quickly evolved into fashion. Victor Hugo, ever the romantic, composed verses for a reluctant lady friend:

“I would offer you an unparalleled feast:
I would slaughter Pegasus and prepare him,
Serving you nothing but a horse’s wing.”

The city’s racetracks provided particularly prized specimens. Two trotting horses originally gifted by the Tsar to Napoleon III during the Exposition, initially valued at 56,000 francs, were purchased by a butcher for 800 francs—their racing pedigree now measured in calories rather than speed. By November, horse meat had established itself so thoroughly in Parisian diets that it would remain a permanent feature of French cuisine long after the siege ended, creating an enduring culinary legacy.

Beyond the Pasture: When Pets Became Provisions

By mid-November, with fresh meat supplies exhausted despite the temporary euphoria following Gambetta’s victory at Coulmiers, Parisians turned to more radical protein sources. Butcher shops began displaying signs reading “Cat and Dog Merchant,” initially provoking outrage and disgust. One incident recorded by a member of the La Rénique family described how a crowd, hearing pathetic meows and barks from a delivery cart, attacked the vehicle and liberated five dogs to public cheers.

This initial revulsion gradually yielded to necessity. By December, even fastidious diners like Henry Labouchère could matter-of-factly report having eaten a slice of hunting dog, though it made him feel “like a cannibal.” The psychological barrier broken, Parisians embraced the new normal. One man was observed fattening a large cat for Christmas dinner, surrounded by “sausage-like rats”—a surreal domestic scene that encapsulated the inversion of traditional human-animal relationships.

The perceptive writer Théophile Gautier noted how animals seemed to develop an intuitive understanding of their changed circumstances: “Cats, smarter and more suspicious than dogs, were the first to realize something was wrong,” he observed, describing how pets began regarding human caresses as butcher’s inspections of their plumpness.

Rodents and Exotics: The Culinary Frontier Expands

Rats, along with carrier pigeons, would become the most famous animals associated with the Siege of Paris, though the total number consumed remained relatively small. Despite fears of disease—possibly exaggerated—rat meat required such extensive preparation and seasoning that it became primarily a luxury item for the wealthy. The prestigious Jockey Club featured elaborate dishes like rat stew with rich sauce and rat pâté on its menu, transforming vermin into delicacies through culinary artistry.

As the siege continued, even zoological specimens became fair game. The director of the Jardin des Plantes faced increasing pressure to surrender his charges, though the historical record remains unclear about which exotic animals ultimately reached dining tables. Contemporary accounts suggest that elephants, zebras, and other exotic creatures were discussed as potential food sources, though evidence of actual consumption remains anecdotal.

The Social Table: Hunger as Social Equalizer

The food crisis transformed Parisian society in profound ways. Traditional class distinctions blurred as wealthy bourgeois found themselves standing in the same lines as working-class citizens, all equally subject to government rationing. Goncourt described the distributed salt pork as “unfit for consumption,” while even relatively privileged observers like Washburne complained about the monotonous diet.

The communal experience of hunger created strange social bonds. The same aristocrats who had once debated fine vintages now exchanged tips on preparing horse meat or identifying edible weeds. Restaurants adapted by creating siege-themed menus, often with darkly humorous names that acknowledged the desperation behind their offerings. The shared struggle against hunger temporarily overcame class animosities that would reemerge dramatically during the Paris Commune just months later.

Psychological Impact: The Mind Under Siege

Beyond physical hunger, Parisians suffered psychological trauma from the prolonged deprivation. The constant preoccupation with food dominated conversations, dreams, and social interactions. Creative energy once directed toward art and literature now focused on devising new recipes or foraging strategies. The writer Gautier, who complained about having to wear suspenders for the first time because his stomach could no longer support his pants, embodied how physical changes mirrored psychological transformations.

The Christmas season approaching in December created particularly painful contrasts between traditional expectations of abundance and the grim reality of scarcity. The notion of holiday feasting became increasingly ironic as families contemplated meals of cat, dog, or horse instead of the traditional goose or turkey.

Culinary Innovation: Forging New Traditions from Necessity

The siege produced remarkable culinary creativity as chefs and home cooks alike sought to make unpalatable ingredients acceptable. Horse meat required particular preparation to overcome its tough texture and strong flavor, leading to techniques that would later become standard in French charcuterie. The need to stretch limited supplies inspired conservation methods that anticipated modern food preservation.

Perhaps most remarkably, the siege established lasting dietary habits. Horse meat never entirely disappeared from Parisian menus, remaining popular particularly among working-class communities. The experience also changed attitudes toward food waste and alternative protein sources that would influence French culinary philosophy for generations.

Beyond the Plate: Hunger as Political Catalyst

The food crisis had profound political implications that extended far beyond the siege itself. The Government of National Defense’s inability to adequately feed the population undermined its legitimacy and contributed to the radicalization that would explode in the Paris Commune. Class resentments fermented in bread lines would soon find expression in social revolution.

The differential impact of hunger across social classes—while all suffered, the wealthy could still access rare luxuries like rat meat—created lasting bitterness. The memory of starvation would become a powerful weapon in the hands of socialist and communist activists who argued that the ruling classes had failed in their most basic responsibility to protect the people.

Legacy of the Empty Plate: How Hunger Shaped Modern Paris

The siege experience left indelible marks on Parisian culture and infrastructure. The vulnerability exposed by the food crisis led to improved emergency planning, including larger grain reserves and better organized distribution systems. The scientific study of nutrition received new impetus as doctors observed the effects of various deprivation diets.

Culinary traditions born during the siege entered the permanent repertoire of Parisian cuisine. The butchers who had specialized in horse meat maintained their trade, while the broader population developed a more pragmatic attitude toward food sources that would serve them well during future crises, including two world wars.

Perhaps most importantly, the collective memory of hunger became part of Parisian identity—a reminder of resilience and adaptability that would be invoked during subsequent challenges. The siege demonstrated that even the most sophisticated urban civilization remained vulnerable to basic biological needs, a humbling lesson that tempered the city’s postwar development.

Conclusion: The Meaning of a Meal

The story of hunger during the Siege of Paris transcends mere historical anecdote. It represents a profound case study in human adaptability, social transformation, and the complex relationship between culture and necessity. The Parisians who learned to savor horse meat and regard rats as delicacies were not merely desperate people surviving through extreme measures—they were participants in a remarkable cultural transformation that redefined the boundaries of acceptable nourishment.

Their experience reminds us that culinary traditions are not fixed but evolve in response to historical circumstances. The same Paris that today celebrates its Michelin-starred restaurants owes part of its culinary identity to the desperate innovations of besieged citizens who refused to surrender their humanity even when facing starvation. Their legacy endures not just in specific dishes that remain popular, but in the broader understanding that culture itself can be reshaped—and even strengthened—by adversity.

The conversation recorded by Goncourt about what one could eat, what might still be available, and how to obtain it represents more than mere survival talk—it encapsulates the fundamental human impulse to preserve normalcy and dignity even under the most abnormal circumstances. In this respect, the story of hunger in Paris is ultimately a story about the triumph of culture over circumstance, and the enduring human capacity to find meaning even in the most meager of meals.