Today is Friday, January 13.
I slightly trudge on my tippy toes as I amiably savor my last hour in Khao San Road. The street emanates repetitive loud trance music that changes as I pass every bar, and unfathomable buzz from wandering topless Caucasians. Their sweat from the humid air fills the nostrils with the sweet aroma of beer, combined with liquid spills from trash bins lying on sidewalks. Lights somehow blur my vision with a seemingly bokeh effect, coming from hanging bar and inn signs with splashes of mostly reds and yellows; specks of fluorescents from mini stalls of food and brightly-hued clothing; and small bulbs tied to electrical wires atop me.
Somewhere between illusions of dancing light to my retina, I spot a cart of fried pest right smack in the aisle of the road, between a stand of shawarma and countless wide-eyed passers-by. After tending to a customer, the lady behind the kiosk looks at me and points the mound of grasshoppers, alongside five other creatures that would normally be in flight. I sheepishly grin and point at another kind of insect through the glass. She gives me a plastic bag containing a bunch of fried crickets.
Tottering to the side of the road, I grab on to my bit of gastronomic exploit and keenly inspect the bag. Almost odorless, I get a whiff of canola oil and a hint of salt. With a poke of a stick, a three-fourth-inch cricket stays put, lankly stuck on the tip. Black head, dark brown wings and body, rigid stringy stick legs; it was indeed once a living creature.
I swiftly put it in my mouth and clasp it amid my molars, bringing out a slight crunch. The first chew squirts viscous liquid that fills my tongue with a tang of soy sauce, saltiness of a perfectly fried egg, aftertaste of green peas, and a palate of Thai culture. I shred it further until it’s chopped down to an almost mashed state and shove it down my throat.
Satisfied, I nod in amusement as I walk further with a Chang beer in hand and a spacious gut for my grub.
