Embracing the Unexpected in Culinary Journeys
Traveling is often about more than just seeing new places; it’s also about experiencing different cultures through their food. For many, the act of trying local cuisine is a rite of passage, and I’ve always believed in saying yes to whatever is offered. The only exception to this rule is liquorice, which I avoid for the sake of public health and safety.
During a stay at Benesse House on Japan’s Naoshima island, I was presented with a chocolate dessert that looked absolutely divine. However, as soon as I caught a whiff, I knew something was off. There, hidden within the sweet treat, was the unmistakable scent of liquorice. It was an unexpected and unwelcome addition to what should have been a refined Japanese dessert. My stomach simply couldn’t handle it, so I politely declined.
Despite my aversion to liquorice, I’m far from being a foodie prude. My taste buds were shaped by a South African childhood filled with dishes like ox tongue, chicken livers with peri peri, biltong, and the occasional restaurant meal of snails in garlic butter sauce. My father had his own peculiar preferences—his favorite dish was tripe, which smelled terrible but tasted bland. He also enjoyed dried mopane worms, which were crunchy and vaguely herbaceous.
At home, we occasionally had cartons of umqombothi, a traditional African beer made from maize and sorghum. I didn’t try it until I was an adult, and even then, it was a bit of an adventure. The fermented mash had a foamy, acrid texture, reminiscent of chicha, a drink I later encountered in Ecuador’s Amazon. I drank it without hesitation, though my preference leaned towards a Soweto Gold lager.
Australia introduced me to a whole new world of cuisine, including kangaroo steaks, camel pie, emu carpaccio, and crocodile skewers. One particularly memorable meal was a wallaby filet prepared by a MasterChef finalist in Tasmania. The steak was succulent, but I felt a little uneasy about its origin. My friend, who had hunted the animal, also shared her passion for collecting roadkill and turning it into gourmet dishes. I couldn’t help but wonder if the steak had been tenderised on the tar.
Another challenging culinary experience came when I was offered raw reindeer while staying with the Nenets reindeer herders in western Siberia’s Yamal Peninsula. I watched as the herder gave thanks to the animal before taking its life. Later, I was served reindeer soup, and I felt it would be hypocritical to refuse. The liver had a metallic taste, and the experience left me with a sense of sorrow.
In the Peruvian Amazon, I tried worms that my guide unearthed from a seed pod. Following his lead, I ate one, which had a lemony flavor similar to the green ant I once tasted in West Arnhem Land. Fire seems to make protein more palatable, and I found the grilled chontacuro larvae in Ecuador to be delicious, resembling crispy chicken.
Some unfamiliar foods have eluded me, such as balut, the fertilised eggs popular in parts of Southeast Asia. I missed out on them when my Filipino host couldn’t reach the vendor before closing time due to Manila’s traffic. I wasn’t too upset about missing out.
Of all the unusual foods I’ve tried—Cambodian frog legs, Myanmarese grasshoppers, Russian horsemeat, and the sacred turtle slice from a Kuku Yalanji man in Far North Queensland—there’s only one (besides the liquorice-laced dessert) that I couldn’t stand: goat’s trotters. I ordered them from a restaurant in Soweto, but the strong bovine odor that hit me as I lifted the spoon to my lips was enough to defeat me. One taste was enough, and I had to admit defeat rather sheepishly.
