I Hope We’re Not What We Eat
Having dinner in a field in November may not sound like an enticing prospect, but this weekend we were in a Mongolian yurt, courtesy of friends Guy and Lou, which proved warm, cosy and perfect for lamb couscous and convivial conversation. As you get older, you can choose to become more or less adventurous, and I’ve noticed that these days my No’s have all turned to Yes’s. But why wasn’t I like that at school, or all the years when I held down a demanding job? Why do many of us retreat into habit and safety?
Take food. I noticed the change this weekend as I was eating (responsibly sourced) cod tongues. As a kid I wouldn’t eat sprouts, beef or anything slippery. Now, so long as its dead or at least stunned, I’ll put it in my mouth. Here are past pleasurable platefuls…
Deep-fried grasshoppers (Thailand)
Shellfish in garlic ham fat (Spain)
Fried worms and grubs (Cambodia)
Lambs’ stomach on sticks (Spain)
Charred whole onions (Spain)
Sea urchins (Greece)
Bus station exploding cheese sausage (Austria)
Fish stew – must be opened with hammer (Turkey)
Mind you, I wouldn’t touch a McDonald’s. You don’t know what’s in them.