I wonder if it’s a cultural thing, this aversion, fear, and loathing certain foods – like balut – can inspire. To some extent, I’m sure it is. Most of us are so far removed from our food sources that we don’t have to face the fact that our bologna might actually have had a first name, not to mention a face, once upon a time.? The thought that a roasted sheep’s head (pacha) would be on anyone’s list of the world’s most terrifying foods proves the point. Granted, it’s lamb with eyes, skull, and maybe a tongue – but it’s just lamb, or mutton.
Now we get to balut. It’s one thing to eat meat from an animal that has lived its life. But the younger the animal, the more squeamish we get about it. Veal. Lamb. Duckling. Suckling pig. Balut. Wait – balut goes one step further. For those who don’t know, balut is fertilized duck egg that has been allowed to incubate for about 18 days, or half the time it takes to turn into a duckling and hatch. You find it in some Asian markets, just sitting out, unrefrigerated, near the cash register. And if you’re American, odds are the words “gross” and “that can’t be good for you” and “ewww, tell me you did not just eat a duck fetus!” probably went waddling through your mind.
But not all cultures are as squeamish about their food as we are, and balut is considered a delicacy in the Philippines, Vietnam, and Cambodia. I’m told it is high in protein, very nutritious, and quite high in cholesterol (which some readers will immediately latch onto as a polite excuse, next time they’re offered a taste of balut). I have always been adventurous about traveling and trying new foods, so it was inevitable that I would, one day, work up the nerve to try balut. I used to say that you had to have tasted a thing before you could turn up your nose and say, “Ewww, yuck, gross, that’s just nasty.” I’ve since learned that there are a few things some people will eat that I simply cannot think of as food – and that there are a few that I am not, and will not, ever be ready to try.
But when it comes to balut, I’m not chicken. I won’t duck out of this, now that I’ve made up my mind to try it. After all, I like eggs and I like duck. It’s just a duck egg. With a little almost-duck tucked in there as a bonus. How bad can it be? I’ve been psyching myself up for weeks, now, and I’ve finally found a market that carries balut (“The one with baby duck inside, yes?” The lady at the cash register smiled broadly when I made it clear I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. “Boil it thirty minutes. You understand? Thirty minutes.” According to Doc Z, that ought to kill the anaerobes. 45 minutes, if you start from cold water.)
I probably shouldn’t have tried candling the egg. But back in middle school, my classmates wanted to tar and feather me for my Science project, which involved hatching chicks and imprinting them to me like I was a mama hen. Because I took the experiment a few steps further, showing the embryo and fetus at various stages of development. My Science teacher was impressed; my classmates were grossed out. Particularly when they learned that if you carefully cut open the rounded end of a six-day-old chicken egg, then put clear tape over the hole, you could watch the heart beat for about six hours. I took it in for show and tell. That was probably a mistake.
I took one of the eggs into the closet with one of my camping headlamps, and held the headlamp right at the back of the egg. About two-thirds of the egg was dark, but the dark mass sloshed around as I rocked the egg to and fro. A web of red veins showed through the shell. Cripes. That made it more real.
Boiling Balut
I boiled some water in a pan, with a couple teaspoons of salt. I gently slid one of the three eggs into the pan, once the water was boiling and lively. That’ll kill the anaerobes, right, Doc? Ohh, the things that ran through my brain today.
In retrospect, I wonder why this seemed less “clean” than butchered meat. Surely, if we thought about it long enough, we’d have to judge ground beef as harshly. This thing has never been open to the air, after all – it has to be more sanitary than your average burger. But your average burger doesn’t have bones and feathers and all its itty, bitty organs intact…
Oh, stop! I mean, seriously, this is why even the cheesiest horror movie can make you leap out of your skin; your own brain is a saboteur!
Garlic-Jalape?o Sauce
While the balut egg boiled on the stove, I made a little sauce I’d seen in one of the “how to eat balut” videos I found on YouTube. It looked pretty tasty, and I had the right ingredients on hand: a few cloves of garlic, some chili peppers (I used jalape?o peppers), a little vinegar, and salt to taste. I considered skipping the balut altogether, at this point. The sauce would do.
But then, before I knew it, that thirty minutes was up.
I could not talk my son into being a party to this. No way. He didn’t even want to film it for YouTube. “People might be mad at you for eating…aborted duck.” And he had a point. I’d seen one video on YouTube showing a cute little three-year-old girl calmly, happily eating balut. I was shocked to see the comments that likened that to child abuse. Child abuse? No one was making that child eat balut – she was quite happily munching on that duck, completely oblivious to – and uncaring about – what it was. And to some people, that made it even worse. I guess they wanted her to sign an informed consent, or something. I don’t remember signing anything when my parents made me eat liver and onions, as a kid, and I’m none the worse for wear. My husband and I did make a prenuptial agreement, of sorts, though: Neither of us would ever fix liver for a meal and expect the other to sit down at the table and eat it.
Don't look now, but I think that's an eye.
I can’t say I was traumatized by it or anything, but it didn’t look like…this.
I can see why it takes a bit to wrap your mind around balut. It’s the kind of ugly only a mother could love. ::sob:: Okay, it’s an egg. With a really big yolk. And a really wet looking brown thing that we all know, by now, is a fetal duckling, kind of…napping…nestled…inside the warm eggshell. And it’s about at this point that I remembered Doc Z said balut went really well with ice-cold beer.
Urk. Cheers.
You know, it’s really not bad. If you close your eyes and don’t think too hard, the “broth” (which I’m told is amniotic fluid) tastes a lot like chicken broth after cooking chicken livers in it. And that’s about what the whole thing tastes like – chicken livers. I’m thankful there were no feathers and crunchy bits – just something soft, a little like chicken liver, and salty thanks to a hefty pinch of freshly ground sea salt I threw in there at the last minute.
William finally decided he wanted to try one, too. So I cooked up another (the one in the close-up, here, is actually his). He liked it just fine. In fact, he liked it well enough he asked if he could have the third egg for his dinner. Many years ago, my parents learned that my brother in law was more likely to say “No, I wouldn’t order it again” instead of “No, I didn’t enjoy that at all.” So I guess the fact that he had balut for dinner, then said, “It’s pretty good. I don’t see what the big deal is,” is telling.
Then again, maybe he just takes after his mom and enjoys trying weird new things for the shock value. “Wait until I tell my friends at school what I ate!”
About the Author Holly Jahangiri
Holly Jahangiri has decades of experience in tech writing, freelancing, fiction, poetry, and editing. Writer, wife, and mother, Holly is the creator of Trockle and instigator of the Puppy-Guppy Rebellion.
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