Back when I’d been at this international aid thing for not very long, I made a promise to myself that food was never going to be an issue for me. Annoyed with fellow expats for whom food seemed justification for going high-maintenance, I resolved to try anything at least once. And always accept whatever a host offered. “It’ll all just turn to glucose later”, I told myself. And to this day, that has been my personal motto, while traveling, where food is concerned.Thus begins a fascinating tour of food duty, including:
Dog: The other white meat. Tastes a little like chicken. In fact, quite contrary to the ethnocentric assumptions of some, I’ve heard of Western people going to dog restaurants and being tricked into eating chicken disguised as dog (chicken is much cheaper), rather than the other way around.
Other tales of micro-livestock: in Bolivia, in Mexico, in DRC.