I ate grasshoppers last night.
Served sun dried in a bowl with chili flakes and lime. Garnished with salsas, cilantro, and corn tortillas.
I resisted temptation to wash it down with a shot of tequila. I was on a date, after all.
The bigger story is that I'm doing research for a story that involves entomophagy. The grasshoppers were listed on the menu as appetizers, under "pre-hispanic" food. With the opportunity right there in front of me, I didn't know how I could rightly refuse it. Granted, I wouldn't kill anyone if I were writing about murder. But...I felt a little guilty thinking I would pass up such accessible research. I felt the draw of exotic adventure. And I felt curious enough, both, to say I tried them, and have an excuse to be so bold as to order grasshoppers on a date.
They were less crunchy than I thought they would be. Not a lot of taste. They felt scratchy in my mouth. They were indeed little carcasses. I couldn't bring myself to pick one up and eat it by itself, or any part of it that had fallen off in the bowl. Actually, there was a moment there, as I sat and chatted with my date, grasshopper-stuffed tortilla rolled in my hand, that I glimpsed in my peripheral vision a bug sticking out of my food!! I jumped. Then realized I just hadn't taken that bite yet. I tucked it back in the taco and took a deep breath, allowing myself only a half second to wonder what the HELL I was doing.
As we left the restaurant, my date joked, "Ah, grasshoppa-eater, you have come so far."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
how were the legs? i find the kittens leave the legs behind as perhaps being to bitter, but as they can't speak, maybe you can shed some light on the matter.
ReplyDeletexo
lisa