Bruce Carleton, mandarin, points the way.
Little Suzie Ratcooker
I was having a drink at the bar in a go-go joint in Bangkok's Nana Complex. It was late afternoon, so nobody was dancing; the gals were just hanging around. One came in to work, apparently just back from a trip to her home village. It's the manner over there to always bring treats back for your co-workers in cases like this, and she had come through famously. She started passing out little paper bags of something that got all the other locals in the bar very excited. The lady next to me hospitably offered me some, so I gave it a try. It had a crunchy crust; inside, the texture was that of stiff bean dip, but with a slightly savory aftertaste. She approved greatly of my having sampled it and offered me another. I decided to have a closer look this time, which was not easy in this dark bar. It was something that looked a whole lot like a cockroach, about as big as a bar girl's thumb. I declined the second offer.
Try some silkworms,

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eccentric chef



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