No, I can’t. No really, I’ll be sick. It’s deep fried. It’s got legs. You can’t be serious.
OK, give me one.
I fancy myself quite the adventurer. I’ll try anything once in the hopes it will give me a story to enthrall my grandchildren with so I’m not relegated to “in my day” tales. But strange food and me aren’t as acquainted. It’s there. I’m there. But we don’t interact much. I tried sea snake in China and that was enough of a leap for me.
But on a night out in Khao San Road with some visiting Swedes, I gutturally and emphatically said I refused to eat a cricket. They were charged up, ready to ingest the small insect that annoys the world over with its loud chorus-like noises. “These guys are nuts,” I thought. But deep down I was envious of their intrepid attitude. I’m not one to turn down a challenge but I also wasn’t ready to lose my Thai salad in a sea of Western backpackers and touts advertising ping pong shows.
So, in a rash move I grabbed those wooden sticks, pinched a crispy cricket and steeled myself for utter repulsion. Camera ready? Okay. Here goes. Ooh a little crunch, there’s a leg, suppress the gag reflex and swallow. Ugh! Nasty!
A tip: when deciding to eat cricket, make sure your photographer is adept at electronics, at least enough to capture the cricket poised over your tongue and your face twisted in disgust. Otherwise you will be forced to eat it twice. Thanks a lot Mr. Hedenskog. You so owe me.