The Joys of Snake

August 21, 2007

Lost in the backstreets in the backcountry of some far off foreign place, I reluctantly pondered the victim of my whims. I had come to eat snake, a local delicacy and aphrodisiac, and I had come to the right place. Upon ordering, I was quickly hurried to a back room, lined wall to wall with cages of various soon-to-be-dinners. There were things I could easily recognize; rabbits, snakes, chickens…and things, which upon first glance, I had never seen before.

I was led to a large cage in the middle of the room and told to pick a snake from the hundreds that slithered around and over each other within the confines of the cage. Indiana Jones would not have been very pleased.

I love food. I really do. I am one of the most adventurous eaters I know, but something about the process irked me. I have never before looked my dinner in the eye (at least, before it’s cooked), much less hand pick it and sentenced it to an immediate doom. I was totally unable to formulate an opinion from amongst the dozens and dozens of identical scaly, slinking, slithering creatures. I pointed at one blindly and the animal executioner, greatly amused by my confusion fetched him out of the cage for me. By now all of my travel companions and half of the staff of the restaurant had crammed into the small room, wedged between and around the various cages.

I held the snake in my hand. It was an impressive specimen, about four feet long. I looked deep into its beady eyes. I petted him. I even pondered cute pet names for it. In a different set of circumstances, this guy could have been a companion. Instead, he was condemned to be my meal. Quickly, and without warning, the handler snipped off the snake’s head with a sinister looking pair of shears. A waitress fled the room shrieking.

The headless snake was still in my hands, and still moving! It instinctively wrapped its body around my wrist, the oozy headless end coming perilously close to ruining my appetite entirely. I looked up at the executioner. He was nothing but smiles. He gave me a thumbs up. I smiled back and handed over the carcass to him. He made a small slit to help draw the blood and pull out the entrails. I returned back to my table pondering the life and death of my late friend the snake.

Resigned to the fact that the snake had been condemned to a life of edible service from birth, I sat back and sipped my beer, knowing that at the very least, this was going to be one of the most memorable meals of my life.

The dinner came about thirty minutes later, sectioned off, garnished with parsley and a radish flower and seasoned sparingly with salt, garlic and ground black pepper. The skin was still intact and the whole thing had been lightly fried and unadulterated. However cliché it might be, my first thought was, ‘This tastes just like chicken!’ There was no other way to put it. It was maybe a little more succulent than chicken, but the taste and texture was almost identical.

The biggest difficulty with eating snake is getting around the tiny curved ribs. Through trial and error, I eventually found the best way, and least likely way to stab yourself was to clamp your teeth against the spine and scrape off the meat along the length of the ribs with your teeth. I finished every scrap of the snake—it was delicious. The crispy skin was probably the kicker, the perfect counter to the tender, juicy flesh.

I had been told incessantly that snake was an aphrodisiac. That it would make me ‘very strong.’ After the meal I was more ready for a nap than anything, but I did feel rather contented—the kind of warm buzz that comes after a hearty meal, cold beer, and time spent amongst friends.

I wouldn’t hesitate suggesting snake to anyone willing enough to try it. Just watch out for the bones! Later that night I even tried snake wine, the byproduct of fermented snake. Snake wine is huge in swaths of Asia, the iconic snake coiled, and still looking very much alive, inside a bottle of a brownish, devious looking liquid. The short review about snake wine: It will get you drunk. Very drunk. Blissfully drunk. I had less than two shots worth, but almost immediately, the power of the wine was evident. It was like swilling a mixture of bleach and jet fuel, but my God, it does the job.

With a belly full of snake meat and my senses dulled by fermented snake, I was feeling very good—almost giddy—and very much ready for anything else the night would throw at me. The evening had been enlightening, slightly traumatizing, invigorating and mesmerizing. Snake, it turns out, can be a valuable ally for having a great time.