The package鈥檚 contents were chirping loudly鈥攑laintively, almost鈥攁nd room颅mates Gabi Lewis and Greg Sewitz, both seniors at Brown University, began to question their plan. But they鈥檇 come too far to quit, having ordered the 2,000 crickets from an online pet-food store. That evening, Lewis and Sewitz froze the insects, then toasted them in a 220-degree oven before running them through a Vitamix blender. The process resulted in a half-pound of smooth, antenna-free cricket flour. Lewis and Sewitz then mashed honey and dried fruit into the flour and molded the paste into protein bars, which they brought to their local CrossFit gym. The verdict? The bars, containing about 40 ground-up crickets each, tasted surprisingly good. 鈥淟ike almond 颅butter,鈥� said one tester.

Last May, after graduating, Lewis and Sewitz moved to Brooklyn, New York, where, buoyed by their test run, they launched the (short for exoskeleton). This spring they鈥檒l release their first batch of energy bars, with flavors like PB&J, Cashew-Ginger, and Cacao Nut.

Incredible as it might seem, Exo is not the first cricket-based food company. That 颅honor goes to Salt Lake City鈥檚 Chapul, (There are now three flavors to choose from: Aztec, Thai, and 颅Chaco.) There鈥檚 also founded in May 2013, which will release a line of products this summer. It will probably be a while before you see any of these at your local Whole Foods, but at a time when eating bugs has become less than stomach turning, the notion of a high-nutrition bug bar for athletes may just have, well, legs.

Adventurous foodies have been eating insects for some time now. Fried crickets, caterpillars, and larvae have all made it onto the menus of some of the world鈥檚 most upscale restaurants, including Santa Monica鈥檚 pan-Asian Typhoon. The idea of eating insects got another boost last May when the A flurry of media reports followed, including a proclaiming that, 鈥渁s protein sources go, bugs may be more sustainable than almost anything else in our diets.鈥�

So far, food security and environmental benefits haven鈥檛 done much to persuade rank-and-file Americans to eat bugs. But the same hordes of dedicated athletes who adopted the paleo diet, ditching grains and dairy for meat and fruit, could be ripe for it.

鈥淧eople have been eating insects for eons,鈥� says John Durant, author of the food bible of many CrossFit devotees. Insect protein, Durant argues, is a natural part of the diet: it鈥檚 normal fare for hunter-gatherers all over the world, an excellent source of protein, and a whole food. 鈥淚t checks all the boxes,鈥� he says.

Indeed, insect meal stacks up well against other superfoods. It has more protein than a wild-caught salmon, with a complete set of amino acids. Cricket flesh has more iron than beef, more calcium than milk, and plenty of the B vitamins absent from vegetable-based protein sources like hemp and soy.

But the real advantage? Surprisingly, the taste. Bug flour is relatively easy to disguise compared with whey and soy powders, so the bars made from it don鈥檛 need to contain as much sugar. While standard-issue Power颅Bars and Clif Bars contain as much as 26 grams of sugar, Exo bars have as little as 13, and all of them have about the same amount of protein.

The trick, of course, is getting over the ick factor, especially when such intrepid professional eaters as Anthony Bourdain have declared bugs 鈥渄isgusting.鈥� This is why Exo and other emerging bug-bar brands grind the insects into flour: you get all the nutrition and none of the visual hurdles or textural issues that can trigger a gag reflex.聽 聽

鈥淲e combine the crickets with almond butter, a little bit of dried fruit, and a touch of honey,鈥� Exo鈥檚 Lewis explains, 鈥渁nd it doesn鈥檛 taste like crickets at all鈥攚hatever crickets taste like.鈥� Bitty Foods founder Megan Miller (full disclosure: she鈥檚 also a former editor and writer for 国产吃瓜黑料) says that she鈥檚 more interested in making foods like muffins, crackers, and even cookies, with cricket flour as the base holding the other ingredients together.

Early numbers suggest that consumers are open to the idea. Chapul鈥檚 bars are now in more than 70 health-food stores in 15 states, and reached its $20,000 goal in just three days. The company鈥檚 first batch: 20,000 bars.

In the meantime, word-of-mouth anecdotes about cricket energy can only help. When pressed, Lewis will even offer one of his own. After he and Sewitz experimented with their recipe, they signed up for a regional powerlifting meet. Lewis deadlifted 495 pounds, nearly three times his body weight. The slender Sewitz didn't go that heavy but had a similar ratio. Both ended up winning their weight categories. “I would never claim causation, of course,” says Lewis. “But you can infer what you like.”

Which to Eat: Energy Snacks or Insect Nutrition?

Clif Bar (Apricot)

• Calories: 230
• Total fat: 3.5 grams
• Total carbs: 45 grams
• Protein: 9 grams
• Sugars: 23 grams

Main ingredients: Organic brown rice syrup, organic rolled oats, soy rice crisps (soy protein isolate, rice flour, rice starch, barley malt extract), organic roasted soybeans, dried apricots, organic oat fiber, organic milled flaxseed, cane syrup

Probar Performance Energy (Peanut Butter)

• Calories: 240
• Total fat: 4 grams
• Total carbs: 44 grams
• Protein: 9 grams
• Sugars: 26 grams

Main ingredients: Dual source energy blend (cane invert syrup, maltodextrin, fructose, dextrose), oat bran, soy protein isolate, peanut butter, rice crisps, brown rice flour

Exo Energy Bar

• Calories: 290
• Total fat: 20 grams
• Total carbs: 27 grams
• Protein: 10 grams
• Sugars: 14 grams

Main ingredients: Almonds, dates, coconut, honey, cricket flour, cacao powder

The post Insect Energy Bars: The Next Paleo Nutrition Craze appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I arrive at the boathouse in Edgartown, Massachusetts, on Martha鈥檚 Vineyard, late and underdressed for what turns out to be a semiformal dinner at a very formal yacht club. Blue blazers, slacks, and penny loafers predominate, a bagpiper pipes, and conversations are conducted half in French and half in English. During cocktails, a handsome young man named Brock Callen climbs to a balcony suspended between the cathedral ceiling and two small brass cannons shelf-mounted over a fireplace. 鈥淲elcome to the first-ever ,鈥� he announces, raising a flute of champagne.

Current record holder Robbie Douglas.

Below, 10 of the fastest 鈥渟ailors鈥� in the world lift their glasses. The quote marks are there because the competitors on hand are actually kitesurfers. In 2008, the decided that, since kitesurfers rely on the same wind, water, and physics as sailors in boats do, they should be allowed to compete for the speed record kept by the ISF鈥檚 World Sailing Speed Record Council. Both windsurfers and kitesurfers broke it pretty quickly, and before long a burly Vineyard kiter named edged them all out鈥攐n his first try, at age 37鈥攖o officially become the fastest sailor in history, hitting a top speed of 49.84 knots, or roughly 57 miles per hour.

The fact that Douglas and others broke the existing record of 49.09 knots so easily blew open the insular and largely French world of speed sailing. With Douglas leading the charge, a scrappy new generation of competitors flooded into the sport. The record has been broken repeatedly since 2008, but Robbie, now 41, is still the fastest sailor of them all, hitting a speed of 55.65 knots in 2010.

Notably, all of the records were set in southern Africa, on a man-made, seawater-filled trench near , a tiny desert town on a remote part of the Namibian coast. There, the proximity of hot sand to cooler ocean provides the wind, which regularly blows in at 50 knots. The trench is less than a foot deep鈥攖he shallowness cuts down on chop鈥攁nd it鈥檚 situated at the precise angle kiters need to get the most out of the gusts.

In addition to being fast, the African trench is very dangerous, mainly because it鈥檚 only six feet wide. Douglas shattered his wrist there at the 2010 competition. Charlotte Consorti, a 33-year-old kitesurfer from France, lost consciousness in a 50-knot crash that same year. Another French hopeful, 40-year-old Jerome Bila, broke his back after running into another kiter.

So this year Namibia is out, and all but one of the world鈥檚 top speedsters have come to the relative safety of Martha鈥檚 Vineyard in late October to do their thing on natural courses: inland waterways protected from the open ocean by sandy shoals. They鈥檝e picked the Vineyard not because they鈥檙e likely to break records鈥攏ature can鈥檛 compete with a custom-built trench鈥攂ut because three of the world鈥檚 10 fastest kitesurfers live here. Robbie Douglas is number one, and his brothers Jamie and Morgan are nine and 10, respectively.

After a few welcoming remarks at the yacht club, Callen starts calling out questions to competitors. 鈥淐harlotte, what鈥檚 your max speed?鈥� he says. 鈥淐颈苍辩耻补苍迟别,鈥� she answers: 50. Callen continues around the room until he comes to Alex Caizergues, 33, one of the fastest of the Frenchmen.

鈥淰 max?鈥� Caizergues asks, deliberately misunderstanding the question. In the jargon of kitesurfing, max speed refers to the average velocity between two points on a course. V max (maximum velocity) is the highest attained at any point during a run: a fleeting rush on an extra push of air.

Caizergues answers his own question with a shrug: 鈥淥ver 60,鈥� he says. While it鈥檚 possible that Caizergues momentarily hit or surpassed 60 knots during one of his runs down the 尝眉诲别谤颈迟锄 trench, that speed is unconfirmed. By mentioning it at all, he鈥檚 suggesting that he could beat Robbie Douglas鈥檚 course average of 55.

A gauntlet has been thrown. Callen, who鈥檚 the race director as well as the emcee, milks the moment. 鈥淗ow about you, Robbie?鈥� he says. 鈥淲hat鈥檚 your V max?鈥� The room quiets. 鈥淔ifty-nine point five,鈥� Douglas says. The crowd titters. Is the famously fierce competitor admitting the possibility of defeat? Then he adds: 鈥淗ere on the island.鈥�

MARTHA’S VINEYARD IS AN 87-square-mile triangle of superprime real estate south of Cape Cod, a longtime destination for politicians, media stars, and entertainers. These days the island is usually in the news for being President Obama鈥檚 summer hideaway, but among locals Robbie Douglas is arguably the biggest name around.

Morgan Douglas, 31, is the captain of the , an iconic 126-foot, two-masted, all-wood sailing schooner beloved by locals and tourists. Robbie and Jamie, the two elder brothers, run the Black Dog, a well-known tavern-cum-clothing-brand that keeps the Alabama afloat.

Robbie is the taciturn cowboy type: he dips wintergreen tobacco and listens to country music. The extroverted Jamie, a year younger than Robbie, prefers the music of the family鈥檚 Highland ancestors. Morgan is the youngest and preppiest of the three brothers. They鈥檙e all big鈥攅ach stands around six feet and weighs 200 pounds, more or less鈥攁nd they all wrestled in high school. Not surprisingly, they pounded each other growing up.

鈥淭here hasn鈥檛 been a good fight in a while,鈥� Jamie wistfully tells me one afternoon.

鈥淲e tumbled one time about a decade ago,鈥� Morgan adds, recalling pieces of furniture that didn鈥檛 survive. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 when I realized it wasn鈥檛 going to end pretty.鈥� Nothing has changed much now that they鈥檙e adults, except that the high-octane feuding has moved from the wrestling mat to a new arena: kitesurfing.

The day after the opening dinner is a beautiful, sunny, 20-knot breezer that finds the contestants at Cape Poge, the most remote of the Vineyard鈥檚 many shoals. Poge extends from the corner of Chappaquiddick鈥攁 small island on the eastern end of the Vineyard, like a long finger, bony and crooked in a permanent come-hither to the Atlantic. With handfuls of wet sand ballasting the kites to the narrow beach, canopies flutter like fluorescent pterodactyls. Out here it鈥檚 just us and the scallopers. 鈥淣o crowds, no big sponsors to manage. An underground event on the water,鈥� Robbie says. 鈥淔ight Club.鈥�

The first rule of Fight Club, at least in the Douglas family, is this: Win. Jockeying for every possible advantage begins before the race does. To get the angle just right, Brock set up the course downwind of a dilapidated dock that extends into the bay. Entering the roughly 800-foot track, marked by buoys, is a dangerous matter of swooping around the end of the pier and then straightening out for the run.

鈥淐an we just move the course to clear this fucking tetanus bomb of a dock?鈥� asks an exasperated Morgan. Given the day鈥檚 prevailing wind, the only alternative would be to run the course up the beach instead of down. In that case, it would change from a starboard to a port tack. Which would put Jamie at a disadvantage. He cut down the tail of his board the night before鈥攎aking it a decidedly starboard craft鈥攕o he鈥檚 against changing anything. Robbie breaks the impasse with a shout: 鈥淟et鈥檚 roll!鈥� The race is on.

During the competition, Alex Caizergues discovers a way to hit the starting line while going fast and avoiding the clumsy dock turn. After a dozen runs down the watery drag strip, he flies his kite straight at the dock, pops his tail, stiffens his sail at the last minute for a burst of lift, and soars over the thing. Robbie follows, and soon most of the field is leapfrogging the dock and landing at the starting gate.鈥┾€淭hat鈥檚 a great entrance until somebody fucks up,鈥� says an EMT on the beach who鈥檚 watching the action with me. Soon enough, Christophe Prin-Guenon, the largest of the Frenchmen, comes to grief when his rear fin hits a barely submerged rock in the rapidly receding tide. It trips him, and he flies into the pier at 20 miles per hour.

Consorti is the first to the scene, dragging a stunned and bloody Prin-Guenon from the water. The EMT quickly cuts off the Frenchman鈥檚 crash vest and whips a cervical collar around his neck. Jamie kites in to the dock, apoplectic: 鈥淲ho鈥檚 calling the helicopter?!鈥�

Ultimately, Prin-Guenon is evacuated by speedboat and limps home to France with a divot-size hole in his foot, a fractured wrist, a bandage around his head, and a wicked shiner. 鈥淗e鈥檚 a big guy,鈥� Robbie says flatly. 鈥淗e can take a lot of punishment.鈥�

The next morning, at a postmortem over coffee and eggs at the Black Dog, Jamie speaks up. 鈥淐onsidering the multiple infractions to the rules as we understood them,鈥� he says, 鈥渋ncluding the obstacles in the course, I think that race should not be counted.鈥� It鈥檚 a passionately argued point somewhat undercut by the fact that it can鈥檛 be untangled from self-interest: his times were abysmal. He was beaten, badly, by both his brothers.

JUST AFTER PRIN-GUENON leaves the island, the barometer starts falling. A nor鈥檈aster is coming in. Darkening skies make for lighthearted racers. 鈥淵esterday we found a virgin to sacrifice,鈥� Caizergues jokes. By the time the storm really shows up鈥攖he second-to-last day of the competition鈥攖he weather is so bad that flights are grounded, and even the ferries don鈥檛 dare venture in or out.

We gather on the east side of Sengekontacket Pond鈥攁 long, low barrier beach on the northeast side of the island. This cuts down the chop but does nothing to slow the winds coming in from the ocean. Just after noon, the tide and wind start changing in big jumps. At 30 knots, just getting kites up and flying becomes a hazard. At 40, a flock of seagulls passing overhead appears to be flapping backward. When the wind works up to 50, fat droplets of sideways rain sting like rubber bullets.

Once up, the kites deform and occasionally turn inside out. Even the Douglas boys are getting blown away. 鈥淚t鈥檚 spooky out there, man,鈥� says Morgan, coming in to the beach after losing a kite on the far side of the pond. Rob loses one, too. 鈥淚 had to punch out!鈥� he says after he鈥檚 nearly overpowered by a too-large kite and pulls the rip cord that severs the connection between kite and rider. 鈥淚鈥檝e never had to do that before on the Vineyard.鈥�

By the end of the heat, visibility is nearing whiteout conditions: thunderclouds above, whitecaps below. With Brock off on the jet ski chasing runaway kites, I鈥檓 stranded on the shoal, holding his start flags up against the wind鈥攚hich, I realize, turns me into a bull鈥檚-eye. The fastest line down the course, both Alex and Rob discover, is the one that points directly at the sandbar I鈥檓 standing on but then swerves to barely miss it.

From my perspective, the kites rip by so close and so fast that they鈥檙e gone before they register. Speed in conditions like these is a matter of digging a channel in the water with the edge of your board and flying the kite almost at the horizon. Press firmly on the edge and pull hard and the forces add up, slinging riders down shore in a shower of spray.

Robbie鈥檚 rooster tail is the biggest, since he鈥檚 flying the biggest kite. At 220 pounds, he leans back across the water and deadlifts kitefuls of wind. On the other end of the spectrum is the lithe, ponytailed Caizergues, who flies a relatively tiny rig but carves his lines with a precision that keeps his spray down and his speed up.

There are no big injuries during this race, but there鈥檚 a close call: a kite on the beach loses its ballast and self-launches, snaring a bystander in its control lines and dragging him into a busy road.

BACK AT THE , the awards ceremony is a raucous affair. Robbie hoists the trophy for highest speed: one of his runs the day before averaged 51 knots, unprecedented on natural waters. Caizergues takes second place. Speaking on behalf of his countrymen, he says, 鈥淚鈥檝e never raced so much in any competition: so early, so late at night, in such light wind, in so strong winds like yesterday.鈥� He says they鈥檒l all be back next year.

Jamie has the third-highest speed of the event, bouncing back from his disastrous day at Cape Poge with some truly remarkable runs down Sengekontacket Pond. Fourth through eighth places go to the French, while Morgan comes in a disappointing ninth, just ahead of Charlotte Consorti.

The next day, after the champagne and oysters are all gone, Team Douglas retreats to their own yacht club鈥攁 tumbledown board-shack across the lane from the Black Dog and behind the pier that leads to the Alabama. 鈥淪ometimes tourists come by while we鈥檙e hanging out and ask, 鈥榃hat鈥檚 going on in here?鈥欌€� says Robbie. There鈥檚 not much for a tourist to see: just three beefy brothers, two ratty couches, and a quiver of kiteboards hanging in the rafters.

鈥淚 always tell them the truth,鈥� he says. 鈥溾€夆€楾his is the fastest yacht club in the world!鈥� They laugh in disbelief and walk away.鈥�

This year, at least, that unlikely boast remains true. But kiters won鈥檛 be the fastest forever. Boats are stuck at about 50 knots by a physical limit called the cavitation barrier鈥攖he watery equivalent of the sound barrier. Breaking through it is a knotty engineering problem, but, in theory, trick foils, hard sails, and radical streamlining should do the job. After four years of kiteboard dominance, the boatbuilders are starting to emerge from their sheds with sailboat designs that should be capable of 65 knots, minimum.

Robbie is confident that with another shot at the record in Africa, he can break 60 knots, but it鈥檚 unclear how much longer he can play the game. 鈥淭he human body has its limits,鈥� he says. 鈥淧hysically, I鈥檓 on the downside.鈥�

At 34, Morgan is still near his physical prime. And, the thinking goes, he has what it would take to fend off the yachtsmen for the rest of the decade by capturing another 10 or perhaps even 20 knots. So I ask him the question that has hung over the entire event: Does he have the commitment and the courage?

鈥淚 don鈥檛 know,鈥� says Morgan, hedging, 鈥渂ut I am not going to snap my neck chasing a world record in a trench.鈥�

鈥淚 learned a lot from the French,鈥� says Robbie. 鈥淭hey really believe that their life has a purpose.鈥� Then he pauses to make sure Morgan is listening. 鈥淎nd if their purpose is to be a speed sailor and get injured rather catastrophically? To pay the ultimate price?鈥� he asks. 鈥淲ell, that鈥檚 romantic.鈥澛犅犅犅犅犅�

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