I never thought I was boring. I will try that once. But this virtue is not always a blessing. Case in point: balut. For the uninitiated or those who have never watched Fear Factor on television, balut is a delicacy of Filipino nature. Balut is a dill egg. What is wrong with that, you say? After all, it probably doesn’t taste like chicken or quail, right? Not this egg. Balut is NOT an embryo, it is already a fetus. What that means is that the egg is so far from being an egg that it just waits for the traffic light to turn green before it hatches.
Defending the guilty name again, Bob, a friend from Manila, told me that if I really wanted to immerse myself in Philippine culture, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to eat balut. And, as I said, I never thought I was boring, so I simply agreed.
While traveling to the northern part of Luzon, we stopped at a station, a good station. Bob guided me to the balut vendor to buy one egg. He looks at my every voice with a sad hilarity with a thin bark drawn out. Now, I’ll admit that I do: I always thought it was some kind of inside joke told by the barbarians that they were too dumb to know better. I didn’t want to believe it was true. Let me tell you. No one dares to eat a duck fetus? Right? What twisted, demented, helpless, not to say crude, foetuses!
With a final evil grin he really ate Cousin Parvi’s Chicken in front of me. There is no Santa in Virginia. I did what any bloody American would do, I took pictures with a bad fascination.
Then, much to my horror, it didn’t happen. He bought another, and, as I looked in disgust and disbelief, he handed me a warm egg. My jaw dropped. What did he think he was doing to hand over the aborted chick?
As if reading my mind, he just said “your turn” mockingly.
Looking around timidly at every excuse, at every escape, he reminded me of my promise, apparently by reading my fear, and the fear on my face. Perish them by squeezing their eyes! I need to buy some sunglasses!
I took the egg with a shaken hand. He tried to reassure me that I was fine. “For,” said he, “I took thee a young man, but sixteen days old.” Declaration for unqualified balut: Balut is sold either 16 or 18 days. The older the egg, the more the fetus.
Now, how do I want to do this again? The following section is not for the faint of heart. If the mom shot Bambi, turn it off. If you have strong animal rights beliefs, please go away now because I intend to discuss in detail how to eat a baluta. (As I write this, my hands tremble and tremble at the memory of my crime. And while a tear slowly rolls down my cheek, I am ashamed to admit that I am no longer a member of PETA).
Bob told me to crack the sharper end of the egg slightly. They didn’t even know that the eggs had a sharp end. I was instructed to make a hole big enough to suck the juice out of the egg. Juice?! He smiled at me. I quickly took a bite so I couldn’t think what it was that I was drinking. Ok, not really as I failed misere and was ready to gag right then. alas!
Then he told me to shave off the top half of the bark. I fell ill. It was yellow I suppose, it was a yoke, and… Oh. Mine. God I saw something that haunts me at night. He was wrapped in a black ball covered with blue feathers. I could make the eyes and the beak and part of the wing. The duck was certainly dead and certain. If this chick was 16 years old, I don’t want to see what an 18 year old looks like. Always in this life or the next.
I glared at Bob with accusing eyes that I’d never known to work with pleading. My anger was filled with laughter and squealing sounds, mocking me. I would like to press the lumps down my throat, but this is not suitable for the burial of my poor dead duckling. However, whatever he did, he did. The more he reproached me, the more I could prove it. He sprinkled my rock-salt”>salt and told me two ways to eat. I could either take it in portions or all of it. to devour at the same time, and to ruminate as if mad.
With bloodshot eyes and hands shaking madly, I put the contents of the egg into my mouth.
I stayed and immediately regretted it.
The soft bones of the duck crack between the teeth. The flesh is pressed into my mouth. I tasted the feather… I devoured it. It’s too awesome for words! I kept my head down to keep everything I had eaten from the previous two weeks from escaping through my mouth. Tears rolled down his cheeks involuntarily. I don’t know whether to laugh hysterically or to cry. I was soaked in shock. I have never seen veganism so good as at that moment.
I felt Bob pat me on the back as he handed me a Coca-Cola bottle. “Drink,” he said. With my eyes still closed, I took half of it and drank it. When I opened my eyes, I felt as if I had just survived a terrible attack. Bob gave me a warm and proud smile like I was the kid who drove the car for the first time. Then he throws me over in a huge bear hug, making me add to the scene. Gee, thanks. Can I gargle with disinfectant now please?
So what lesson did we learn from eating the great Filipino balut? Nothing except perhaps that it is not always good to be brave or curious about the culture of other cultures. Sometimes, when the fetus becomes a duck, it is better to know and say no.
