BALUT
Ever since the word was introduced to my world, the horror seared into my psyche months before the events even took place. I trembled in fear of my inevitable date with disgusting destiny. Standing over the frying veggies and boiling pasta in my chef station, I would suddenly shutter and let the guy working next to me know that, yep, because of my beloved Melody and her will to be weird, I had no choice in the matter. The days were screaming by and soon enough a partially, or in this case MOSTLY developed duck fetus would be presented to me with salt and expectation.
A balut is a fertilized duck embryo that is boiled and eaten in the shell. It is commonly sold as streetfood in the Philippines. They are common food in countries in Southeast Asia, such as Laos, Cambodia (pong tia koon ពងទាកូន in Cambodian)[1] and Vietnam (trứng vịt lộn or hột vịt lộn in Vietnamese). They are often served with beer.
The Filipino and Malay word balut (balot) means “wrapped” – depending on pronunciation.
It Was Our Last Day In Manila
Aside from our massive hangovers, the day had been overwhelmingly pleasant. A trip to the park, a lunch to remember with 3 kilos of shrimp, garlic butter and cheese baked oysters and squid rings prepared in its own black squid ink. We took in the sunset during cocktail hour high above the vast expanse of my new favorite city. Good people and great food from all over the globe. Two large pizzas were delivered to our door minutes after we arrived back home at our comfortable and surprisingly cosmopolitan apartment nestled between the broken homes and businesses of Samat Street in the suburb of Mandaluyong. My longing for pizza met my appetite for a food coma and I ate feverishly until I could fit no more. I was happy and ready for some peace and quiet. Perhaps even a nap.
the view from our happy hour destination!
Unfortunately for me, peace and quiet remained off the menu this evening. Our dessert however was delivered to our door much too early for my green complexions' taste. Ice cream didn’t even sound appealing at this time. I would have passed on milk in cookies I was so full and bloated. What lay in front of me in a neat little oblong row was neither of my favorite after meal snacks. The fear I thought I had overcome began dumping itself out of my pores to cool my desperation as the futile attempt to cry out “God No!” was silenced by the grinding of my teeth.
You can tell by the look on my face I was none too thrilled. Something along the lines of anger swept over me as I watched one by one successful efforts to down the Filipino delicacy. First, our host Japs cracked his open on the table to demonstrate. Beside him was one saucer of course salt and one saucer of red vinegar and chili flakes. It could have been glass and gasoline for all I cared because I didn’t think any of it would be reaching my mouth. Peeling the shell back as he described what we were seeing, he tilted it up to his lips to suck out the juices. He remained calm as ever even after seeing just how far along these babies were in development. Pulling off a yellow brain-like membrane exposed the nightmare I had come to experience first hand. A baby duck in the making right there in his hand. Fury feathers matted by the boiled juices and an outline of beak and feet with eyes and organs impossibly next to what could have been… a wing? a tail? Who knows.
It seems to be a crap shoot as to how bad (or good?) your egg will look inside. The poor french guy next to Melody, a fellow first timer, seemed to have it worse from the start. He cracked his egg on the table and peeled open the slightest little hole and a feather shot out. I forget his name now, but I will never forget his reaction and how the comedic relief was welcomed inside me. Relief was short-lived, I knew there was no way out of it.. Doomed i tell you!
On Melody’s go, she asked me to sip some of her juice because there was so much and mine turned out to be bone dry. The best part is when I attempted to slurp out some of the soup that was supposed to be in mine, it didn’t matter that no liquid touched my lips! I threw up in my mouth anyway and ran to the bathroom before it was a serious situation in the dining room. I couldn’t do it. I had already psyched myself out as I watched Melody shake and tear up and almost lose it completely while conquering the beast. She made it, she was shaken but cheerful and I was equally proud and mad at her for dragging me into this crazy idea. It dawned on me that I couldn’t be the only one to not try it, but I didn’t think it was actually possible either. My solution: a trash can and a bottle of water. I had to get this slimy duck down my throat soon or not at all, and regret would follow me for the rest of my life each time it got brought up. In my contemplation of misery and failure, I foolishly squeezed the thing and there was a tiny but audible POP and with it, pink globs of organs shot out the side and stuck there. I lost it. I mean I was pissed I had to eat this thing and I was sick of everyone berating me to do it.
I took a time out by storming around the house childishly explaining why it was physically impossible at this point. “You’re not going to see me eat this shit, you’re all just going to see me throw up dinner on the table because that’s all that will happen!”
Embarrassed and shaking, I saw the hint of disappointment on Melody’s face, and I knew it was futile to resist. I popped it in my mouth and froze. Not even a bite into it and I was staring down at the bottom of the trash can. To my surprise, only a minimal amount of my stomach contents left me and I was able to continue without losing any balut and therefore cheat. I bit down, I bit down again. It wasn’t until the 5th or 6th bite that the flavor came through and it wasn’t too bad. It was like a hard-boiled chicken egg and not much else. The texture? What can I say about it that you can’t already imagine? I had to wash it down with water and I panicked when I realized after 5 or 6 big gulps of water I had only swallowed the first half! That’s right, I had to keep chewing on this thing, and chew I did.
Of course the worst parts were still in my mouth, and the crunch remains with me to this day. One more giant gulp of water and I had done it! I was king of all partially developed foul in my finest hour, and I was elated it was over and I had done it. I was glad not to disappoint Melody, as well as myself, but It’s safe to say I’ll never try it again. All night I couldn’t get over what had just taken place. We would look at each other and laugh and recount the event as we remembered it, and every time I thought I had forgotten about it for a minute Mel would push play on the video of my struggle. It’s a pretty funny clip and you can see it here
It truly amazes me that this is a revered food item here, and it continues to remind me of just how far from home I’ve come. Three days later and half way into our seven hour bus ride to El Nido, on the island of Palawan, the bus pulled over for the 100th time and I got out to stretch my legs and find a snack. Any thoughts of food receded before I could comprehend what I saw. On a fold out table next to warm sodas and plastic wrapped treats, there was a small rusty bucket that the locals raced to. I turned back to the bus with my head down in awe and mouthed the one word that was carefully hand written on the bucket there behind me: Balut.
What is the worst thing you have ever tried while traveling?
Reply and let me know if you would ever try Balut!
Thanks for reading and as always!
Steem on!