My first taste of flesh

93c7mf My first taste of flesh

93c7mf My first taste of flesh

By the time my taco arrived, our party of five had settled in around a table by the window. We’d agreed on the tastiness of the chips and salsa, and put away a ceviche or two. We had talked shellfish allergies with Geoffrey, our server, and had marveled at the “salt air” topping off the restaurant’s signature margaritas. When my taco arrived, though — a fold of tortilla supported by something that reminded me of a napkin holder and cradling on a bed of guacamole dozens of sauteed grasshoppers — my dinner companions fell silent. All eyes turned in my direction. The “serious deflowering” — as Eric had termed the evening’s main event — would soon occur.No accident brought me to Oyamel Cocina Mexicana in Washington, D.C.’s Penn Quarter that Thursday night, or had me facing down chef Jose Andre’s legendary chapulines. Nor did chance place a co-worker at my elbow or a pair of college friends across the table from me. No. Your first time, they say, should be special, and I wanted to take the plunge when and where I wished and in company both trusted and experienced.Experienced, that is, in omnivorism.Continue Reading…

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My first taste of flesh

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