Neutral morsels.

"Here, for you."

With thumb and pointer, Mr Bun Saret, my hired motorbike driver for two days, pushed a small black morsel to my face. Sandwiched between his fingers; almost unknown to me. Maybe it was better this way. At times its better to move without knowing.

I took his offering between my finger and thumb, and before my face could react, a small beat punched through my body. I began to laugh, in shock and with humor. It wasn't that I'd never seen bugs before, or seen them eaten. In Thailand, almost nightly, a cart rolled by with locusts, cockroaches, and six-legged crawlers. In Laos, giant grasshoppers and equally large roaches were sold on skewers -- from the street to our overloaded pickup truck. But now, there was a big difference. This locust was in my hand and I was expected to eat it.

I continued laughed through a big open-mouthed smile, "I've never eaten anything like this before."

"Its good," he said. Mr Serat pulled a white glass bowl over; the bottom of it filled with dead, cooked, locusts. He popped one in his mouth and dropped the legs on the floor. "In Khmer, the people like this with beer."

In a jolt, I tossed it in my mouth.

*Crunch*
*Crunch*
*Crunchcrunchcrunchswallow*

This was not quite the nut and pretzel mix. Slightly salty, but not the same.

"Mm..." he gestured towards me with that bowl. I cracked up laughing at his expectation, and I took another.

[My mind always churning. How did I get here? I wonder while chewing. What would my family think of this?]

I had a couple more. I don't know why. Maybe to please my gracious host.

[These aren't bad. I taste a little salt. But mostly neutral. I'm going to stop, now.]

He looked at me.

"Oh, finished," I told him.

He grabbed a few more, pulling the legs off and after tossing the slightly charred body in his mouth, he nibbled off a tiny bit of meat on the locust's upper thigh, throwing the knee and the foot to the floor.