London has always had a complicated relationship with eels. These slippery, writhing creatures have fed the city’s poor, fascinated its scientists, and baffled its fishermen for centuries. From the bustling eel-pie stalls of the 18th century to the mysterious journeys of the European eel, which swims thousands of miles to spawn in the Sargasso Sea, eels have been a surprisingly significant part of London’s history.
And then, of course, there’s Eel Pie Island—one of London’s strangest, most storied locations. A place where slippery seafood meets rock ‘n’ roll rebellion, this tiny island in the Thames has its own legendary status.
Eels on the Menu: London’s Forgotten Fast Food
Before fish and chips took over as the nation’s favourite seaside treat, eels were one of the most popular foods in London. Unlike other fish, they thrived in the murky, polluted waters of the Thames, making them cheap and plentiful. By the 18th and 19th centuries, eel pies were being sold on almost every street corner. The pie men, with their distinctive cries of “Eels, lovely eels!”, were as much a part of London’s soundscape as the newspaper boys and costermongers.
Then came jellied eels—perhaps the most divisive dish in British cuisine. Stewed in a spiced stock, the eels naturally release gelatin as they cool, setting into a wobbly, glistening mass. For East Enders, jellied eels were a working-class staple, served alongside mash and ladles of green parsley liquor at the city’s famous pie and mash shops. For outsiders, they were a test of culinary bravery—one that many failed.
Pie and mash shops, which first appeared in the 19th century, became institutions of cockney culture. Many, like M. Manze’s, which opened in 1902 and still operates today, served eels fresh from the tanks, writhing in the shop window until they met their fate in a pot of steaming stock.
But eel-eating wasn’t just for London’s poor. Henry VIII was particularly fond of them, frequently dining on eel pie, and records show that medieval monasteries around London relied on eels for both sustenance and profit. The River Thames itself was once so full of eels that fishermen paid their rent in wriggling catches rather than coins.
Eel Pie Island: From Pastry to Psychedelia
One place where eel pies once ruled supreme was Eel Pie Island, a small, privately owned island in the Thames at Twickenham. In the 19th century, it was a popular stop for pleasure-seekers cruising along the river. They’d dock their boats, eat a hearty eel pie at the island’s famous Eel Pie Hotel, and enjoy a day of drinking and dancing.
By the 1950s and 60s, however, the island had transformed into something far wilder. The old hotel became one of the birthplaces of British rock ‘n’ roll, hosting performances by up-and-coming bands that would later become legendary. The Rolling Stones, The Who, Pink Floyd, and David Bowie all played there in their early days. It was a place of rebellion, hedonism, and loud, raucous music—a far cry from the genteel eel pies of old.
Eventually, the hotel fell into disrepair, was occupied by squatters, and mysteriously burned down in 1971. Today, the island is home to a community of artists, and its history as a rock ‘n’ roll haven is still fondly remembered. But its name is a lasting tribute to the eels that once made this stretch of the Thames their home.
The Mystery of the Thames Eels
The European eel (Anguilla anguilla) is one of nature’s greatest enigmas. For centuries, no one knew where they came from. The Thames was full of young eels, or elvers, each spring, but there was no sign of baby eels being born anywhere in the river. Even Aristotle, one of history’s greatest thinkers, was baffled—he suggested they might spontaneously generate from mud.
The truth is even stranger. European eels begin their lives in the Sargasso Sea, a vast expanse of the Atlantic near Bermuda. Tiny, leaf-shaped larvae drift on ocean currents for up to three years, slowly transforming into transparent glass eels as they reach European rivers. Once in fresh water, they develop into the darker, longer yellow eels that lurk in the Thames mud for decades, growing up to a metre long.
Then, without warning, something calls them back. Their bodies transform again, their eyes grow huge, their bellies turn silver, and they become silver eels, ready for the final journey home. They swim thousands of miles back to the Sargasso Sea, where they spawn and die—though no one has ever actually seen this happen. Even today, no scientist has witnessed a European eel laying eggs in the wild.
The Rise and Fall of the London Eel
For centuries, eels were one of the Thames’s greatest success stories. They thrived in the mud, survived pollution that wiped out other fish, and formed a crucial part of the river’s food chain. But in the last 50 years, London’s eels have mysteriously declined.
Numbers have dropped by more than 90% since the 1980s, and no one is entirely sure why. Overfishing, barriers like weirs and dams, climate change, and even a mysterious parasite picked up in Japan have all been blamed. The Thames, once thick with eels, is now struggling to support them.
To help the eels, conservationists have installed eel passes on weirs and locks—essentially fish-friendly ladders to help them navigate upstream. Efforts are also being made to clean up the river, allowing elvers a fighting chance at survival. The Zoological Society of London has even launched an Eel Monitoring Programme, tracking their numbers and movements to understand how to protect them.
Eels in London Today: From Fine Dining to Urban Legends
While jellied eels may be a dying tradition, London’s relationship with eels isn’t over yet. Instead of pie and mash shops, eels have found their way onto the menus of high-end restaurants, where chefs are reinventing them for modern tastes. Smoked eel is a delicacy at places like St. John, and sushi restaurants across the city serve unagi nigiri—grilled freshwater eel glazed with a rich, sticky sauce.
Beyond the kitchen, eels have also slithered into London folklore. Stories abound of giant eels lurking in the sewers, fattened up on waste and ready to rise from the depths. Some claim to have seen enormous, snake-like shadows moving beneath the surface of the Thames at night, though these tales are likely just a mix of urban legend and overactive imagination.
Still, the eel’s long, slippery history with London is far from over. As conservation efforts continue and chefs rediscover their culinary potential, perhaps the eel will find its way back into the heart of the city. Whether that means a revival of jellied eels or something a little more sophisticated remains to be seen.
But one thing is certain: the eel’s story—like the creatures themselves—isn’t quite finished yet.
FUN FACT:
in Shakespeare’s time, eel pie was such a staple in English cuisine that lacking the knowledge to prepare one was considered a mark of ignorance. This cultural understanding is evident in King Lear, where the Fool recounts a tale of a foolish woman attempting to bake eels alive into a pie:
“Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’ th’ paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombs with a stick, and cried ‘Down, wantons, down!’”
This anecdote would have resonated with Shakespeare’s audience, who were well aware that eels needed to be killed before cooking. The Fool’s story humorously underscores the woman’s naivety, highlighting a basic culinary knowledge that was widespread at the time.
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