Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, gets a disgustingly satisfied look on his face whenever we walk past a vendor selling fried insects. I’m not sure why he thinks eating cockroaches and grasshoppers is something to be proud of, but since he will and I won’t, that damn smirk always spreads across his face. It’s usually accompanied by a raised eyebrow, his invitation for me to finally come to my senses and try some. And then he chuckles when I answer him by talking with my hand and offering him a little bird to digest.

I don’t think refusing to even try a bite of something with six legs means you are a picky eater. Limits are a good thing and drawing the line at insects isn’t quite the same thing as refusing to eat brussels sprouts. Though I’d imagine the taste of the two is quite similar. If I had my druthers asparagus and broccoli would no longer be considered food either. But if I don’t have a choice in the matter I will be polite and swallow instead of spit. Vegetables that should not be considered food are known American dangers. S.E. Asia has its own unfathomable food. In S.E Asia if it ever breathed or had a heartbeat, it’s fair game for the dinner table. Sometimes, even while it is still breathing.

I won’t chow down on insects because they are insects. Not because of what they might taste like. The nice thing about being a Westener in S.E Asia is that if you are willing to try some disgusting dish, no one gets upset when you spit it out. Stupid farang finding good food inedible is always worth a laugh. And I rely on that bit of Thai humor often. I’m usually willing to try just about anything. At least once. As long as it is not a bug. Noom puts up with my dining habits though I know it perplexes him. I will eat what other farang won’t get near, but then will not eat stuff, like KFC, that everyone knows is farang food.

Late one night coming out of the clubs we stopped to pick up a few skewered meat balls as is our norm. Noom always handles that transaction because it is important to him to pick out exactly which sticks of mystery meat we get. The perennial joker, he bought a few that were fish (seafood restaurants are barely one level up from KFC on my list) and then did his damnedest to control himself while watching me bite into one. I didn’t even get the thing chewed before he was rolling on the ground giggling, “It fitsch!”

Okay, so like me he is easily amused. Unfortunately for the little ball of glee, by the time the small amount of fish is mixed in with everything else they put in those suckers, what I object to about eating fish is no longer there. And what is is smothered by the flavor of the sauce. Instead of spitting it out in disgust, which would have been good for another round of giggles, I handed him some baht and told him to go buy a few more. You can make the same comment without resorting to actually using bird.

When we first met, he tried to get his daily ration of mirth by handing me a dish at a street stall made for a Thai. In my world there is no such thing as ‘too spicy’. He didn’t get the laugh he was after that time, and should have taken heed. Since I can out hot him, I’ve managed payback a few times, which he didn’t find funny either. Now we tend to take care of our own dining needs. On the rare occasion when either of us hands food to the other, whoever is the brunt of the meal carefully sniffs it before giving it a try. They say trust is important in any relationship. That’s why ours works. We both trust each other to fuck with the other guy if it might mean a laugh.

Street food in general is good for Thais to use when they feel the need to laugh at a farang. If you’ve been on the receiving end and need some payback, stop by one of the upscale grocery stores in town and pick up a nice gooey chunk of brei. I haven’t had to resort to that trick yet. Noom knows that I like street cart food. As long as it is not an insect or has gills, I’m game. Even on some of the more gamey dishes. So most of what he comes up with, I’ve no problem with. Not that that means he doesn’t still try. I just ruin his fun most of the time. But then he gets a meal out of it anyway, so all is not lost.

When in Bangkok, we often stay at Centre Point Silom. There are street cart vendors all around the hotel 24/7 and a small sub-soi that runs along the length of the hotel’s drive where you can get the most amazing food. I’m not sure if it is purposely planned that way, but the further back you go the more unusual the dishes are. If Noom is hungry, we barely make it past the first few stalls. If I’m the one in need of food, we head for the vendors in the back. Most are fixtures. I know what they have, even if I don’t really know what it is. Others tend to come and go, or the vendor offers a variety of different meals depending on what they managed to score that morning. Starved one early afternoon, we headed toward the back and Noom’s face lit up. It wasn’t the enticing aromas drifting down the soi that put that smile on his face. It was a specific dish he decided I really needed to try. I’m still trying to decide if he has a solid punch coming for that one.

The vendor was doing a brisk business with a long line of customers waiting while he prepared each dish. It was a salad of sorts – as long as you don’t confuse salad with the western version that usually includes some kind of lettuce – mostly green onions and garlic with some lemon grass mixed in. You can never go wrong with onions and garlic. Topping off the herb mix were tiny little translucent shrimp. I’m not a fan of fish, but shrimp, crab, and lobster are okay in my book. Especially when smothered in garlic.

Each portion came in a small metal bowl, with an upside down dish serving as a lid. As usual, I grabbed us seats while Noom went after the food. When he finally showed up at the table with our meal, that upside down dish gave me pause. There are numerous Thai dishes meant to be eaten in a specific manner, which I’ve learned in the past by providing whichever local I’m dining with a good laugh by eating the wrong thing or eating it in the wrong way. I’ve learned to wait and follow a local’s lead before diving in. With this meal, Noom wasn’t buying into that.

“You try!” he urged me while ignoring the bowl in front of himself.

I waited a minute hoping his stomach would get the better of him, but he waited for the punch line patiently instead, an anticipatory grin plastered to his face. With a fork and large spoon provided as utensils, I figured there couldn’t be too much of a trick to eating a bowl of shrimp salad, and assumed rather than eating from the bowl, you were supposed to eat off of the plate that was temporarily serving as a lid. No problemo. I slipped the ‘lid’ off with the intention of righting it. And tiny little shrimp started jumping out of the bowl.

Noom howled with laughter.

Goong ten, or dancing shrimp, is a dish from Northern Thailand. Where, evidently, fire to cook with is a rarity. I’ve had drunken shrimp in Hong Kong, so the idea of chowing down on tiny crustaceans with life still left in them wasn’t a totally foreign experience. Their little antennae waving all over the place was a bit creepy, but what the hell, I had a shit-eating grin to wipe off my boy’s face. I managed to get a few of the little creatures on my spoon along with a good portion of onions and garlic, and only lost another one or two of the little buggers to freedom before cramming the concoction into my mouth.

Not realizing they are doomed, in your mouth the shrimp continue to wiggle. At least until they meet your teeth. With a satisfying crunch, the shrimp rupture as you grind into them. As for the taste, even live critters have a difficult time taking center stage when you have enough garlic and onion in the mix; there is virtually no shrimp flavor to the dish at all.

Noom was a bit disappointed that his session of joy was being cut short, but wasn’t about to waste the food either so he recovered my bowl before too many of my shrimp made their escape. There is lime juice in the mix, along with a few other Thai spices, which kills off the shrimp – they die in a relatively swift fashion. There is less and less jumping as you eat the meal, the wiggle-effect remains for a few bites, and by the end of the meal the only movement left is your throat swallowing what is surprisingly quite a tasty dish.

Since that meal, I’ve tried the dish once more. Not because it was that good, but rather to wipe out any pleasure left in Noom’s memory bank from the first experience. In Chiang Mai, the dish was made slightly different with more shrimp and less veggies. Noom preferred the Chiang Mai version, I preferred the dish I’d had in Bangkok. They say the third time’s the charm, but I doubt I’ll ever be ordering goong ten for a third meal. Besides, I’m sure there are still some equally weird Thai dishes just waiting for Noom to get a laugh out of ordering for me.

Come to think about it, I really do need to stop and pick up some runny brie for dinner one night. I’ll let ya know how much Noom enjoys it, and how much I enjoy watching him try it.

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