It seems to me that the fundamental difference between tourists and travelers who aren’t tourists is that tourists stay, or at least try to stay, within their respective comfort zones. Non-tourists, on the other hand, seek out adventure in the form of spontanaeity and uncertainty. Of course, nothing is absolute and there’s a little bit (or a lot) of tourist in all of us, but I’ve noticed that the more you travel outside of your comfort zone, the wider that comfort zone becomes, so that I’ll often see or do things now and take no notice at all—things that just a couple years ago would have been unthinkable.
I moved to California when I was seventeen, and it took me a good three years to work up the courage to try menudo, which is just a Mexican soup made with beef tripe. Menudo, I guess, was my “gateway food,” and from there it was inevitable that I’d move on to harder stuff, like cow tongue, or pickled pig’s feet. When I started leaving the country, however, things started to get really interesting.
In the Philippines, I fell in love with sisig—sizzling pork face. Yes, pork face. They chop it up, serve it to you on a hot skillet and break an egg over it, and lord is it delicious. I also became a big fan of isaw ng manuk, or chicken intenstine kabobs. It may not look appealing on the stick, but I’ve found that I get a lot more out of life if I let my tongue make those judgments. And no culinary adventure to the Philippines is complete without sampling balut, the infamous fertilized duck egg. Balut has gotten a bad rap, I feel, but the experience really varies depending on what kind you try. They’re sold based on how long the egg is allowed to 
incubate, so the 15 day is like a rich, earthy, hard-boiled egg, and the 21 day—well, you’re eating an aborted duckling, often with down and cartilagey beak intact. Not for the vegetarian or faint of heart, certainly, but if you eat it while you’re drinking beer (as most do), it goes down smooth and tasty.
In Thailand, my linguistic shortcomings meant that I was often ordering things without knowing what animal they came from, much less what part of the animal. But it was all Thai food, so it was all delicious. The only exception was on the backpacker strip of Khao San, when I sampled a variety of creepy crawlies. Among them were—and keep in mind I’m no [whatever bug scientists are called]—crickets, grasshoppers, meal worms, and even a cockroach. The only one I could recommend in good conscience is the meal worm, and really it has no taste at all, but the texture is mildly pleasant. You might be thinking, “what an idiot! Why would you eat bugs? I could’ve told you they’re not good and I’ve never tried them.” Sound logic, I’ll admit, but I can tell you they’re not good and I have tried them. Who has more expertise on the matter?
I’ve continued to nurture my gastronomic curiosity here in the Pacific. There were other volunteers in my group who wouldn’t eat fish because, after their host families fried it, it was still a fish—head, tail, fins and all. [Now I know that in the U.S. we’re fond of eating our food without knowing where it comes from (if not, there would be many more vegetarians), but a fish? Hell, you can pluck a fish right out of the stream and bite right into its belly. I saw Survivorman do it once. If you’re not yet at that stage, don’t worry; you and your comfort zone just have a little growing to do.]
I have to admit, the hardest part about strange food is knowing what the strange food is. That’s why canned mystery meat is such a hit—there’s no paper trail. Even if you wanted to you couldn’t find out what’s in it, so you just don’t question the source, and life is better that way. Thus, when I came home from training one day in Pohnpei and saw the charred carcass of a snub-nosed, four-legged beast, my brain (trying to protect me, I assume) thought ‘My, if that isn’t the strangest looking pig I’ve ever seen.’
“Sure I’ll try some,” I said, “Give me a piece off the hock there, where it’s real meaty.” Indeed, it tasted just like pork, or rather, the texture was just like pork but its taste was bland. My host father asked me if I liked it. “Yes, very delicious,” I lied in Pohnpeian.
“Yeah, the reason we killed that dog,” he explains, “is cuz he was killing all the chickens.” I like to think of myself as stout and unshakable, like a lumberjack, but for a brief moment, I questioned my resolve and wondered if I’d be able to keep it down. I did keep it down, and having done so it’s hard for me to imagine another food that would give me pause, short of human flesh (though I’m not above it).
Since I’ve been in Palau, I’ve added a few more tasty treats to my list. Stingray tastes just like fish, with the nice benefit that all the bones are sandwiched between two layers of white meat, making it easy eating. Shark is similar, but the taste is better, especially barbecued. I'm told that the smaller sharks are the best, and as an added bonus, they don't take up all of your freezer space.
I moved to California when I was seventeen, and it took me a good three years to work up the courage to try menudo, which is just a Mexican soup made with beef tripe. Menudo, I guess, was my “gateway food,” and from there it was inevitable that I’d move on to harder stuff, like cow tongue, or pickled pig’s feet. When I started leaving the country, however, things started to get really interesting.
In the Philippines, I fell in love with sisig—sizzling pork face. Yes, pork face. They chop it up, serve it to you on a hot skillet and break an egg over it, and lord is it delicious. I also became a big fan of isaw ng manuk, or chicken intenstine kabobs. It may not look appealing on the stick, but I’ve found that I get a lot more out of life if I let my tongue make those judgments. And no culinary adventure to the Philippines is complete without sampling balut, the infamous fertilized duck egg. Balut has gotten a bad rap, I feel, but the experience really varies depending on what kind you try. They’re sold based on how long the egg is allowed to incubate, so the 15 day is like a rich, earthy, hard-boiled egg, and the 21 day—well, you’re eating an aborted duckling, often with down and cartilagey beak intact. Not for the vegetarian or faint of heart, certainly, but if you eat it while you’re drinking beer (as most do), it goes down smooth and tasty.In Thailand, my linguistic shortcomings meant that I was often ordering things without knowing what animal they came from, much less what part of the animal. But it was all Thai food, so it was all delicious. The only exception was on the backpacker strip of Khao San, when I sampled a variety of creepy crawlies. Among them were—and keep in mind I’m no [whatever bug scientists are called]—crickets, grasshoppers, meal worms, and even a cockroach. The only one I could recommend in good conscience is the meal worm, and really it has no taste at all, but the texture is mildly pleasant. You might be thinking, “what an idiot! Why would you eat bugs? I could’ve told you they’re not good and I’ve never tried them.” Sound logic, I’ll admit, but I can tell you they’re not good and I have tried them. Who has more expertise on the matter?
I’ve continued to nurture my gastronomic curiosity here in the Pacific. There were other volunteers in my group who wouldn’t eat fish because, after their host families fried it, it was still a fish—head, tail, fins and all. [Now I know that in the U.S. we’re fond of eating our food without knowing where it comes from (if not, there would be many more vegetarians), but a fish? Hell, you can pluck a fish right out of the stream and bite right into its belly. I saw Survivorman do it once. If you’re not yet at that stage, don’t worry; you and your comfort zone just have a little growing to do.]
I have to admit, the hardest part about strange food is knowing what the strange food is. That’s why canned mystery meat is such a hit—there’s no paper trail. Even if you wanted to you couldn’t find out what’s in it, so you just don’t question the source, and life is better that way. Thus, when I came home from training one day in Pohnpei and saw the charred carcass of a snub-nosed, four-legged beast, my brain (trying to protect me, I assume) thought ‘My, if that isn’t the strangest looking pig I’ve ever seen.’
“Sure I’ll try some,” I said, “Give me a piece off the hock there, where it’s real meaty.” Indeed, it tasted just like pork, or rather, the texture was just like pork but its taste was bland. My host father asked me if I liked it. “Yes, very delicious,” I lied in Pohnpeian.
“Yeah, the reason we killed that dog,” he explains, “is cuz he was killing all the chickens.” I like to think of myself as stout and unshakable, like a lumberjack, but for a brief moment, I questioned my resolve and wondered if I’d be able to keep it down. I did keep it down, and having done so it’s hard for me to imagine another food that would give me pause, short of human flesh (though I’m not above it).
Since I’ve been in Palau, I’ve added a few more tasty treats to my list. Stingray tastes just like fish, with the nice benefit that all the bones are sandwiched between two layers of white meat, making it easy eating. Shark is similar, but the taste is better, especially barbecued. I'm told that the smaller sharks are the best, and as an added bonus, they don't take up all of your freezer space.
Pigeon, or at least the pigeon-like bird that I ate, is rich, dark meat and tastes similar to duck. Fruit bat looks hellish and uninviting on the plate, what with the fur and vicious incisors and all, but it tastes like poultry—not quite like chicken, but close. And if you can get past your feelings of remorse, sea turtle is delicious when prepared well in a stew. The meat itself is pinkish and has the taste and consistency of ham, but there are all sorts of bits on a sea turtle, some of them fatty, some chewy, and they all go in the pot. Crocodiles are a protected species here, but I’m not a hundred percent sure I’d turn down an offer to make one my lunch.
This is what I mean when I talk about the dangers of expanding your comfort zone. You might wake up one day and find yourself eating cockroaches just for the hell of it. So if you’re not okay with that, you know what to do. When your Mexican friends ask “have you ever tried menudo?” Just say no.
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