May 24, 2012
Mostly I hear the word “crickets” in the context of telling a joke, and then hearing, you know, crickets. As in, silence.
This week I made a quick trip back east for a conference, and, to take a cue from Jim Gaffigan, after we ate, we set up a place to eat, and then we went and got something to eat.
And by something, I mean crickets.
Well, not just crickets. We also had tongue tacos. And the most delicious guacamole I’ve ever tasted.
But the crickets stole the show. On account of them being disgusting.
John and I figured, we’d order lots of stuff, like scallops, quesadillas, and other yummy stuff, and in the middle of it, we’d try the crickets.
Because when a swanky Mexican restaurant puts Cricket Tacos on the menu, I mean, you have to order them. Don’t you?
Yes, yes you do. So we did.
All I kept thinking was “Grab my arm. The other arm. My other arm.” That’s how it works in my head.
Let’s have a post mortem for the crickets.
Attractive presentation. Terrible taste. Gross texture. Not for eating. Nice novelty factor. Can’t believe people really eat crickets.