I ate half of a live grasshopper at lunch this week. And not on purpose. It was covered in sesame ginger dressing and wiggling it’s arms weakly at me after I bit into its crunchy thorax.
You’d imagine it would have tasted nasty or otherwise “different” but it was the cafeteria and most of the things there taste gross to me. Eating there is about staying alive, not about enjoying the taste of the food.
The cafeteria manager, who I happen to know quite well, told me that the grasshopper was a sign of how fresh the salad was, that a few live grasshoppers was the price to be paid for “locally sourced organic” produce.
I spent the rest of the day drinking boatloads of water and thinking that a prickly leg was still caught in my throat.
And that was kind of the end of the “farm to table” movement for me.