I had seen them in the market in Thailand, glistening salty piles, separated by species. On the left, cricket; in the middle, beetle. On the end, the one that provoked the most horror in my imagination – the worm. The larvae. Ivory white, they were bumpy, fleshy, big as the pinky of the Michelin Man.

Okay, maybe not that big.

But they were easily an inch long. I imagined putting one of these giant maggots in my mouth, its soft flesh wiggling gently between my teeth. Eegads.

The first time we saw them, visiting the Watermelon Festival (much like a county fair) with our homestay family and a group of NGO volunteers, we whities all pointed and giggled in amazement and revulsion. But I was piqued by the idea of trying them. I didn’t know if I could stomach it. Were they for real? Did people really eat them? If they could do it – if they liked doing it – there must be something to it. Part of what’s interesting about traveling is seeing past the limits of how you’re socialized. I wanted to get to that point where you see that what you know is really only what you think you know, and try to step outside of that. And I think I know that eating bugs is gross.

But at the Festival, our homestay host, Tik, turned up her nose at the fresh-fried insects, and I was freed from the challenge of trying to prove myself a non-narrow-minded Westerner. For the moment.

Weeks later we were at the bus station in Battambong, Cambodia. Our bus was very late and I decided to while the time away by trying out my phrasebook-Cambodian on the friendly looking lady sitting next to me.

We found we both spoke a tee-ninsy bit of Thai, which served us better than my non-existent Cambodian or her limited English. But she appreciated my efforts and rewarded me with a treat she had just bought from the vendor – a tiny raw minced pork ball topped with a very hot chili and wrapped in a banana leaf. She and her friend watched with amusement and approval as I ate the spicy ball. I smiled and fanned my open mouth at the intense heat.

She then disappeared for a moment and came back with a funny, slightly mischievious smile on her face and a bag full of fried bugs. And not just any bugs. These critters looked suspiciously like cockroaches. Zow.

Man. What to do? She very sweetly offered me one, and both women laughed when I balked. Really? I asked. Delicious? Oh yes, they said, peeling off the outer wings and popping them into their mouths. Delicious.

Ummmmmm….okay? I said, taking one tentatively. God. Was it going to be juicy? Were bug guts – COCKROACH guts- going to squirt out into my mouth?!?!?!?!?

I waited a few moments for the appropriate photos to be taken – I had to have this on record – put the roach to my lips, opened my mouth, and bit it in half….

And man! It was, believe it or not, kind of yummy. Not in a – hey guys! bug fries at my house! – kind of way, but way WAY less nasty than I had imagined. For starters, they were totally dry. No guts. No juice, no paste, no nothing inside. It really was just a crunchy shell.

I was so proud of myself I beamed and made Ramon take my picture again. He took the other half of the bug, chewed and swallowed.

And he agreed! Not so bad! Not really knowing how to say – hey wow! It’s not so bad! We said only, Delicious! Thank you!

Which prompted our nice lady friend to go and get a bag of crickets.

Still later, in Vietnam, after a visit to a silkworm factory, the monster of bugs appeared before me again in fried form. The worm.

They had not been available at the bus station in Cambodia, so I had not had to tackle this particular demon. This time, our cocky, 19-year-old motorcycle tour guide thought to impress us with his bug-eating bravado. He was really getting on my nerves, and sometimes there’s nothing like a little machismo to goad me along. Hah! I thought. Watch this! Heartened by my experience with the light and crunchy crickets and cockroaches, I went for the worm after only a moment’s hesitation.

Okay. This time there was a little paste. Not so much squirting out as smearing around. I chewed quickly and swallowed, feeling queasy but proud. In all, it really didn’t taste any worse than a dry little Cheeto. Given a choice in the future, I might have to opt for the worm.

Not.