He later informed me I was eating water buffalo testicles. Our jaws ached — his from laughing, mine from biting. Funny.
Menus in Bangkok’s Chinatown offer crocodile, bat and monkey. I’ve never seen those in 10 years of traveling China.
I liked deep-fried bees. They were presented by ethnic Miao women who made them zoom between pinched chopsticks as diners chomped to catch them with their mouths in Guizhou province.
Crickets? OK.
Pupae? No thanks.
I don’t like fish balls. Or Western lunchmeat.
Horse intestines? Not bad. I ate them on the floor of an elderly nomadic ethnic Kazak’s home in the Xinjiang Uygur autonomous region while he explained how he hunts with eagles. We scooped the boiled horse guts and noodles with our hands.
Horse heads? Yummy.
Rabbit heads? So-so.
Fish heads? I’ll pass.
It’s easy to see why burgers are the epitome of Chinese discussions about what Americans, and often other Westerners, eat.
In 2005, I reported on how Chinese staged graduation parties and Valentine’s dates in McDonald’s.
The company then had a mostly burger menu, plus vegetable-seafood soup, purple sweet-potato pie and the Triangle Meal — a pita wrapped around beef or lamb with rice and soy sauce.
(A slice of time. KFC later overtook them by faster and vaster localization.)
I’m not bonkers for burgers.
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