Ireland is setting itself up for a summer of excess. People are ready to let loose, and caviar bumps are here to accommodate. This latest fad – where a serving of tasty fish roe is eaten straight off the back of the hand – has of course been fuelled by social media. A quick search on TikTok shows more than 1.7 billion views of #caviarbump videos, ranging from tutorials to clips of well-heeled friends triumphantly caviar-fist-bumping. “Those that caviar bump together, stay together,” wrote one user, fist raised, gleaming orbs of fish roe glinting in the light.
The food trend was birthed fully formed straight from celebrity- and influencer-crowded Manhattan, gradually floating across the Atlantic, appearing in London and Paris before finally crossing the Irish Sea to make landfall in Irish restaurants. So far Dublin’s Seafood Cafe, Allta and The Shelbourne Hotel have embraced the bump.
Despite the swirl of hype and Instagram glitz, the tradition of tasting caviar in a lump on the back of your hand is quite old. People have eaten caviar like this for generations. Historically, communities around the Caspian Sea, once famed for its wild sturgeon, would sample caviar by placing it directly on the hand as a means of testing quality before purchasing. “It’s a traditional way to let caviar come up to body temperature,” says Niall Sabongi, owner of Seafood Café and founder of Sustainable Seafood Ireland. “You put it on your hand for a few seconds to warm, so you can really taste all its nuances.”
There’s a pleasing symmetry to a centuries-old technique finding a second life in a modern, social-media-fuelled world. But the practice may be trivialised, for some, by the brash repurposing of drug slang to describe it. It’s not the first time the language of drugs has been used to describe food. Since the 1980s we have been describing treats like cheese as “crack”, we call chocolate lovers chocoholics. These glib references to illegal substances usually come from communities that rarely face the harsher realities of addiction.
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But gluttony, lust, and intoxication have always formed a triumvirate of sensation. They’re all profoundly sensory experiences that stimulate the same parts of the brain, so the language surrounding our cravings tends to blur the boundary between permissible indulgence and illicit thrill. This means we tend to use the same words and codes to describe them.
Transgression itself has always had a special place in the realm of food. St Augustine famously confessed to stealing pears solely for the thrill declaring: “It was foul, and I loved it.” From that vantage point, caviar bumps can be seen as the latest iteration of subversive snacking.
Some see this as a democratisation of caviar. Once considered the domain of aristocrats and oligarchs, sturgeon eggs are no longer quite so unattainable. Overfishing of wild sturgeon nearly wiped out certain species, prompting widespread restrictions and the cultivation of sustainable sturgeon farms in France, China, Uruguay, and the US. Now, with more stable (and ethically sound) production, the global supply of caviar has expanded, bringing prices down to a level where more people can afford a small taste. That shift in supply has spurred the rise of casual caviar for the not-quite-super-rich.
An early adaptor of the bump in Dublin was Seafood Cafe. Diners can indulge upper crust decadence for €14 while still wearing runners and a T-shirt. You don’t have to shell out hundreds of euro for a full ounce; a single bump, though still pricey, is more manageable and comes with a veneer of exclusivity. Sabongi sees caviar bumps as “highbrow meets lowbrow whimsy” that welcomes curious newcomers who want a small taste rather than “committing to €125 on a whole tin”. Sabongi says, “A quick bump on a Saturday night is a fun, affordable way to see if you really love the stuff.”
People who are new to caviar might struggle to differentiate between varieties: Osetra, Beluga, Sevruga, Kaluga, or even Hackleback. Venues such as The Shelbourne now offer caviar bumps to sidestep that confusion by providing a side-by-side tasting option of Asetra and Perle Imperial. Of course, caviar novices might not care about the specifics. They might only want the bragging rights of posting a short video of themselves licking roe off their hand in one of Dublin’s oldest hotels. But for those who do want a deeper appreciation, the comparative tasting can demystify caviar’s aura of grandeur.
Shelbourne chef Garry Hughes is confident that the allure won’t fade despite growing accessibility potentially cheapening the luxury appeal. “Caviar is a beautiful experience,” Hughes said when I sampled their new bump offerings. They’ll serve a bump or two if that’s what people want to try. They’ll also keep serving it the traditional way, “on buckwheat blinis, with a dollop of sour cream.” There’s room for both.
