Dog lovers, beware. You may want to skip this post.
Okay, well don't say I didn't warn you. But in the vein of "when in Rome," I experienced my first taste of a local delicacy: dog meat. Yes, really. Trust me, I felt more skittish about this than I did about the grasshopper, the tarantula, or even the tarantula wine. I love dogs (I really, really do!), so I simply couldn't imagine eating man's best friend, no matter how common feral dogs are here. But what do you say when it's offered to you? Does politely accepting the offer make it better than seeking it out on my own? Good god, I hope so.
As you can see, I am feeling tremendously guilty for this recent foray into the culinary unknown. I feel as though I'm teetering on the edge of permanent karmic damage—perhaps even doomed to be reincarnated as a Mexican Hairless.
Now that the damage is irretrievably done, I suppose it's my duty to report on the experience. I sampled two varieties: one was roasted, one made into a sausage. I am very sorry to tell you that roasted dog tastes like pork (in other words, not horrible...oh, how I wish I could say it was). On the other hand, readers might be satisfied to hear that the sausage—being made of all the scrap parts and organs—is truly disgusting in both texture and taste and leaves a lingering film in your mouth that I hope you'll agree is punishment enough for this foul deed.
Please don't hold this against me. It will never, ever happen again.
