The bugs gave off a sickly sizzling sound as they fried. Going to a market, I never expected to end up with a bag full of crickets, but after a quick drive in a bus for a group cooking class in Thailand, here I was, ready to pick ingredients and show off my amazing cooking skills. As I walked down the aisles of stalls selling everything from fresh tomatoes to fried, golden chicken heads, my eyes came to a halt and I found myself looking straight at a shop selling fried insects. I was intrigued and wanted to try some, but something about them wanted me to skip on having them.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, some fellow travelers from our same group interrupted. 

“Those look mighty tasty, those,” exclaimed Steven, an Air Force pilot who was traveling to Thailand. He was a tall, muscular guy in perfectly ironed clothes who barely fit in the market, squeezed in among all the people and constantly ducking to avoid bopping his head on things.

“I dunno, maybe I’ll try some later,” I nervously replied, but as his confidence grew, I could tell he was willing to try some. 

“Look at all these tasty-lookin’ critters. I’ll buy ya some, young fella’ unless you want to forfeit. I mean, I just know those juicy cicadas are gonna be delicious!”

“I mean… I don’t really want to…”

But before I could finish my sentence, he questioned, “So, d’you want these crickets or those beauties?” He pointed at a small white grub, golden from all the frying oil. 

“Umm, I don’t know about those, m-maybe those little crickets? Those might be nice…” I skeptically answered back. As if he ignored me, he then proclaimed in a big delighted voice, “Ya know what? Why don’t we git all of ‘em? You can have a go at everything if you do that.” He then proceeded to bargain with the store owner for a good price for a pack of four big scoops. 

“Excuse me, uh, Mr. Steven?” I felt like I wasn’t getting heard over the booming voice of the pilot, so I raised my voice a few decibels. “Umm, Mr. Steven, Those Bugs Don’t Really Appeal To Me. Why Don’t We Get Those Instead?” I pointed to the dried fruit stall just opposite where we were now. He turned his head casually toward the direction. ‘Good, at least he heard me,’ I thought to myself. 

“Wudya mean, you want THOSE sugary snacks instead?! If you wanna get big muscles like me, that’s not the kind of, uhh, what’s the word?… garbage you’d eat. Eh? ‘You understand what Mr. Steven is sayin’? You need PROTEIN.” 

It was as if a lightning bolt just struck in the background, like a dramatic movie scene. His powering voice echoed in my head as if I were waiting for an impending doom. I was out of words. I didn’t know how to debate over not having one. 

“It’s only three bucks. It’ll be very tasty.”

“They don’t look very tasty to me,” I replied. 

“Dunno what ya mean kid.” 

And with that, he turned around and bought the bag of doom. 

This was it. I’d have to eat one. He then advanced and handed me a cricket, the grease going all over my hand. He then hand-picked a cicada from the bottom of the bag and put it up to his mouth. I sniffed the fried bug. It didn’t really smell like much; maybe an overburnt popcorn kernel. He then signaled over for me to look. 

“Ready? I know you are. ‘K, one, two three!”

The soft body of the vertebrate crunched as I pressed my teeth together. The oiliness of the bug added a hint of flavor. Legs were getting stuck between my teeth and the claws at the ends unpainfully scraped my tongue. It actually tasted quite good. Maybe not the best, though. They tasted somewhat similar to a fried peanut with a bit of bitterness to it. I then grabbed a handful of insects from the bag of not-so-doom and hulled them into my mouth. 

“Good, eh? I knew you’d like ‘em,” Steven said, seeming pleased with himself from my reaction. 

“Yeah, why not.” I then proceeded to walk up to the countertop and bought another bag.