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If only scorpions tasted like chicken. This is what I kept
trying to convince myself as the anthropodian highlight of
the meal was served at my goodbye lunch in Zhenghou, China.
I consider myself to be a highly adventurous person when
it comes to food and travel. I like to give all the cuisine
of the world at least one chance to pass my lips- for better
or worse. I've eaten snake, dog, monkey brains, half-incubated
birds eggs, Minnesotan lutefisk; you name it. But nothing
could prepare me for the terrorizing experience of eating
something you are afraid may kill you during the process.
During this particular goodbye meal, everything was going
as expected. Beer was flowing continually with constant shouts
of "Ganbei", dish after dish of beautiful leafy
greens, beef, pork, pigs' feet, and duck were brought to the
table, and the Lazy Susans were spinning continually. Then
suddenly, the dishes and scraps were briskly cleared away
and the table fell silent. Out from behind the thick red and
gold curtains surrounding our table, came our headwaiter with
a platter full of little brown creatures. When my mind finally
registered what these insects actually were, our waiter was
busy picking them up one by one (very carefully mind you)
and dropping them into a large glass of vibrant blue rice
wine.
A pair of scissors and a new set of Cloisonné chopsticks
were placed at my side. The glass of scorpions was pushed
in front of me so I could watch them desperately try to swim
to the surface as they slowly became intoxicated. The one
member of the group, who spoke English, explained to me the
process of eating this delicacy. I was to pick out one of
the inebriated insects, clip off his stinger with the scissors,
pop it in my mouth and chomp away. Simple as that.
Not knowing a thing about the anatomy of scorpions, I was
not exactly sure where their venom was stored, and how much
of the tail I actually needed to clip off to ensure my life.
So with sweat dripping from my forehead and all Chinese eyes
on me, I dipped my chopsticks in the glass and started after
one of the wiggly creatures.
I managed to get one in my novice chopstick grasp and gently
pull him out of the glass. Everyone cheered. As I went to
grab the scissors next, the creature promptly wriggled out
of my clutches and started staggering across the table towards
my other lunch companions. Needless to say they all jumped
back in their seats and shouted at me in unintelligible Mandarin
to grab the perpetrator as soon as possible.
After a few faulty moves with the chopsticks, I had him back
safely in my grasp. With shaking hands, I clipped off his
tail with the scissors, closed my eyes and threw him in my
mouth. I chomped down as quickly as possible, though I still
felt him wriggling as he went down.
I cant say it tasted at all like chicken, maybe a little
more like shrimp with the shell still on? Needless to say,
having survived the first one, and with plenty more beer to
wash the little nasties down, I went for another.
This article was originally published in TNT magazine, UK
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Travel Writers: Sting for Your Supper by
Amy Jurries
Globe
Trekker:
