It took me 55 years to eat a grasshopper. Those neon green jumpy creatures I used to catch as a kid.
They now sit in a bowl , gently fried, heavily seasoned waiting for me to consume.
I'm at Azul Restaurante in Mexico City during the pandemic on a hot muggy summer night. The waiter tells me to put them on the guacamole and chips. He's scary looking and reminds me of Hannibal Lecter in his mask, clear cover shield and black rubber gloves.
I can't tell if he's smiling or smirking nor do I understand what he's saying . My high school Spanish did not prepare me to converse through masks that muddle words.
The waiters all stand together, a pack of Hannibal Lecters a safe distance away staring at us.
They must be used to seeing the reactions of unknowing tourists when a bowl of fried grasshoppers is put in front of them. They are all in on the joke.
We take photos for Instagram.
I wonder if they eat grasshoppers at home, maybe over their breakfast cereal ?
I hear they have lots of protein. But I'm sure whatever nutritional value they have, was fried away before serving to us.
They are crunchy, salty, tasty. Though it seems like I am eating just the legs, as they are so wiry. I like them. All of them.
I sprinkle a couple into my husband's beer when he's not looking. He takes a sip before he notices them and his gag reflex kicks in. They are now stuck in his teeth. I wanted to share this culinary experience with him, though he is not a fan.
Now that I've conquered the grasshopper, it's time to bring on the black ants.Yummmm!
Ciao for now, Nancy