Pisco Sour

Pisco is a brandy-like liquor distilled from grapes that forms the base for the pisco sour cocktail, both of which are currently being fought over culturally and legally by Peru and Chile, each fervently claiming to be the birthplace of these drinks. Ignoring this near-hundred year struggle, I must apologize to the Chileans and limit my discussion to the Peruvian versions since it's all I've had the pleasure of trying but I welcome all Andean countries, or any nations of the world for that matter, to make travel arrangements for me to visit and sample the wonderful local victuals.

The pisco sour is to Cusco, a fascinating tourist destination in Peru and starting point of the Inca Trail, what the margarita is to Key West, a fascinating destination city in the US and starting point of the US1 highway, and can often be acquired as a free compliment to a meal at many of the local restaurants.

A mixed drink, you say, what's so strange about that? Well, here's a list of the typical ingredients:

* 2 fl oz (8 parts) Pisco
* 1 fl oz (4 parts) Lime juice
* 3/4 fl oz (3 part) Simple syrup
* 1 Egg white
* 1 dash Bitters

Egg whites, that's crazy! There was no doubt a look of sheer horror on my face when I saw my first pisco sour being prepared, especially when I was supposed to be avoiding any situations with a potential for causing diarrhea. My flirtation with and successful avoidance of gastrointestinal distress aside, the raw egg white whipped up into a foam within the cocktail was actually really good and the drink would have been incredibly boring without it.

In my limited sampling of this concoction I found that some places went a bit overboard with the syrup and it became far too sweet. The pisco itself, or at least the cheaper varieties, is said to taste like a weak (as in flavor) rum but it's difficult to isolate any flavor when your only exposure to it is in mixed form. Because of the lemon or lime juice used, the pisco sour is a bit reminiscent of a margarita in certain respects but the frothy egg whites give it more of a cappuccino-like texture.

I'm not a big fan of cocktails but this was interesting enough to call for repeat samplings and I owe that primarily to the egg whites and citrus juice. We even found some places gave the egg white treatment to lemonade which resulted in a wonderful and refreshing beverage. Definitely recommended for the adventurous lushes out there but don't blame me for any cases of diarrhea or salmonella infections.

Red Bananas

I really like bananas. Currently, due to the intersection of my love of their flavor and my constant hunger with their nutritional value, their bulk, and their low cost, I am consuming three bananas a day. Once I heard a rumor that eating more than two bananas a day could lead to an early death due to the high levels of potassium. Actually, I think I read it in a book or saw it in a movie but a quick search on the Google results in many pages in support of this idea that bananas are going to kill me.

I feel fine.

Regardless of whether or not bananas are going to cause me any sufficient damage, the sad fact is that the trees bearing these wonderful packages of plant matter are currently under threat from the horrid Fusarium oxysporum/Panama disease/Agent Green, a fungus that wiped out the Gros Michel cultivar of banana, predecessor to the current most popular variety, the Cavendish. The bananas you buy at the store are all the product of essentially the same organism. You may have noticed that the bananas you buy have no seeds as a wild specimen would have. This is because all Cavendish banana plants are reproduced by removing and planting offshoots from the main plant. Banana plantations are armies of clones producing sterile organs harvested for our consumption. As a result of this homogeneity, what ails one banana tree can lead to the destruction of them all and Fusarium oxysporum, to which Cavendish bananas had earlier been resistant to, seems poised to obliterate many of the commercial banana crops around the world.

So what do we do? Experimenting with the commercial viability of other banana cultivars is one good tactic and it may not be long before we start to see red bananas appearing in many of the major super markets. They're already infiltrating the smaller health food stores which is where I picked up my first sample.

Here's one major problem with introducing new bananas or different pigments: when are they ripe? The green, yellow, black phases we use to make judgement calls regarding the state of a banana don't work when the banana is red. Instead you have a red/pink, red/purple, black progression and the distinction between the under-ripe and ripe phases can be confusing.

So I bought my first red banana and rushed home, excited, for my first sampling. I took some pictures, did a bit of reading, and decided that it should be good to consume. I peeled back the skin a bit which showed some resistance. "It's just a different type of banana," I said to myself and then sunk my teeth into the flesh. Immediately all of the moisture was sucked out of my mouth and into the banana shaped block of wood. Not ripe, nowhere near it. Leaving it for a few days didn't rectify the problem and, heartbroken, I was forced to abandon the banana to the trash can.

Fast forward to a market in rural Pisac, Peru. We'd been told to be wary of eating local fruit unless you could peel it yourself. Even then, be careful we were warned. So I was wandering around, observing the wares and dodging chunks of flesh and bone flying forth from the butcher stalls, when I saw them: bananas rojas! My health store midget cost me about a dollar in the US; I scored this whopper for a mere 15 cents and I didn't even think to haggle.

The scent of the red banana is a bit more "tropical" than what we're used to with our yellow Cavendish cultivar. There is a hint of the acidity of citrus in the aroma and a floral component. The taste and texture are noticeably different but not drastic enough to jeopardize its commercial viability. The hint of citrus is present in the flavor whilst the typical "banana flavor" is less pungent but bold nonetheless. The texture is fluffier, a bit velvety, and a little drier which results in a slightly less filling snack. I've also noticed that they tend to be shorter than the Cavendish but are often a bit fatter when at full size.

I've had subsequent success with buying from the health food store so just be sure to pick the darker, more purple banana if you're planning to give one a try or you'll get a mouthful of wood. While I would surely lament the passing of the yellow Cavendish banana if it ever came to a tragic end, I would be just as happy with the red banana and would love to see them both sold side-by-side in major supermarkets.

Alpaca

I've previously mentioned my disdain for the term "gamey" in describing the flavor of meats. It's not just that the word itself sounds somewhat infantile but that it's rather ill-defined and simply suggests boldness or pungency. So it's all I can do not to use this dreaded adjective in my following attempts to communicate the taste of alpaca meat.

A good whiff of the steaming hunk of flesh gave me the impression that I was in for a salty beef or venison analogue but, while it was indeed rather salty, the characteristic flavor of the meat was wholly distinct from any other I have so far had the opportunity to savor. Pardon the negative connotation but the initial taste was something like a kick to the tongue by an incredibly agitated musk ox. Musk... musk... the sole word I was capable of producing in my mind whilst chewing that fist morsel. With an effect similar to a first encounter with wasabi sauce, the flavor hung in my nasal passages like a thick fog.

The texture was very similar to that of a thin, lean, tender steak and succulent in spite of the low fat content. The flavor, despite its incredible pungency, was pleasant but I imagine it could become overbearing if the portion was increased by much. If you're traveling in the Andes and aren't opposed to eating cute beasts with soft fur and grotesquely undershot jaws then definitely give it a try.

Coca Candy

Continuing my hazardous experimentation with substances in foreign countries, I moved from the coca tea to some harder stuff: coca candy.

These little sweets actually taste pretty good. I doubt there's any more than a single coca leaf in each one meaning the natural presence of the illicit substance that shall not be named again is incredibly low. There's a slight flavor of vegetation but nothing like the pungent bouquet of the coca tea.

The best things about these things were that, in the dry atmosphere of the Andes, popping one into your mouth stimulates a healthy production of saliva to help counteract the ever present thirst one suffers in such an arid climate.

I didn't feel any other effects upon consuming the candies so, again, I recommend opting for some chocolate covered espresso beans if you're looking for a buzz but the experience and unique flavor are well worth the meager dollar if you find yourself in the areas of South America where they are sold.

Coca Tea

It's true what they say... that hemp bearing 9 bar was a gateway drug, driving me further and further along a path of depravity, bringing me here to coca tea.

Coca tea, or mate de coca, is an infusion enjoyed throughout South America, particularly in the Andes, and is made from the leaves of the dreaded coca plant from which one can extract cocaine if one is so inclined. But the cocaine is present only in very small amounts, approximately 0.2% of the weight... still, due to a zero tolerance policy at work, I ask you all to please refrain from telling my boss.

In late September we embarked upon a trip to Peru and were greeted with an unlimited supply of coca tea as soon as we reached the hotel in Cusco. It is a bold yellow in color, much like the Peruvian Inca Cola soft drink or urine after a vitamin B supplement, and best served warm like the latter. The pungent aroma gives hints of fresh cut grass, spinach, and boiled brussels sprouts. The taste doesn't differ much from the scent and can be simultaneously odd yet appealing.

Purported to help with the effects of altitude sickness and to have a stimulant effect similar to coffee, coca tea is said to be the secret strength behind the incredibly impressive porters who lug tourists' heavy bags along the mountainous Inca trail for days on end.

I was ill-prepared to properly ascertain the effects at first. Sleep deprivation and the sudden arrival at high altitude rendered my mind a dizzy muddle and the tea didn't seem to aid in my alertness. Despite repeated experiments throughout our stay in Peru, I wasn't able to get any meaningful effects from the tea and gave up for the king of stimulant brews, coffee. I did notice that my eyes became drier and red and that my blood vessels felt constricted, which is a physiological mechanisms of the cocaine, but I had no numbness, no "energy" boost, nor anything else of the sort. Perhaps if I'd tried pouring the tea in through my nostrils...

Being that the coca leaf is a big part of the native Andean culture, no visit to Peru would be complete without drinking of coca tea or chewing a quid of coca leaves, just don't try bring back over the borders. Even though the cocaine is present in very small amounts, your ass could still end up in jail. And why risk it when, as far as I'm concerned, you'd be much better off sipping a latte and chewing on some chocolate covered coffee beans?

9 Bar

The last of my UK fare is a tasty little bar with wholesome ingredients and edgy packaging designed to appeal to both zen housewives and their rebellious teen progeny. You see, there's a big pot leaf on the front label. This is, of course, there to signify the inclusion of healthy little hemp seeds (only 3% by weight, 20% by label), not at all marketing ploy to attract drug addled teens. But who am I to judge, being a willing victim of the clever packaging myself.

"Whoa maaaaaaaaaaaan," I said to no one, pointing at the little package of wholesomeness and watching, unblinking, the world dissolve around me for five minutes until I was surrounded by three dimensional grids of white hot light.

Not really, I'm just a sucker for healthy little snack bars with "all natural" ingredients, particularly when the label prominently boasts about the protein content.

I don't remember how much this thing cost but, because it was in pounds, it can't have been too cheap. I think it was around a pound and it doesn't seem you can find them for sale in the land of dollars. This is good news for my wallet but bad news for my appetite as I could happily tear through a box of these tasty little morsels each and every day. Delicious, really, and it's all down to the fantastic mixture of tasty ingredients, listed as such:

Sunflower seeds, Pumpkin seeds, Carob topping, Honey, Raw cane sugar, All vegetable margarine, Dehulled hemp seeds (3%), Sesame seeds, Poppy seeds.

Fat, sugars, and protein, all blended in such a way to retain the characteristic flavors of the ingredients without being sickly sweet. Infinitely more addicting than the associated drug yet without any negative side effects (well, except obesity).

I doubt these will be making an appearance in the US anytime soon so, if I find myself in the UK before they're banned I'll be sure to start cramming them in my mouth faster than a stoner can say "huh?". What? I like to savor my food sometimes.

Ox Tongue

Tongue has been near the top of my list of meats I'd like to try for quite some time and for a very valid reason. No, this doesn't have anything to do with my obvious mental instability and apparent lack of decency but from my addiction to the act of repeatedly lifting heavy objects and subsequent need for massive amounts of protein.

The tongue is a very strong muscle so I figured it would be pure protein. As it turns out, there's also a lot of fat in tongue (fuel stores for delirious bouts of verbal diarrhea) but that's perfectly acceptable for my purpose of beefing up. It doesn't, however, do much for the texture and taste.

What I tried was essentially deli meat and I'm going to wait until I bite into a full, cooked tongue before passing final judgement. The couple slices of tongue smelled a little more, how shall I say, alive than typical deli meat. There was a definite aroma of beast to the two strange slices of meat. And the taste, the taste... almost like a meat paste; creamy, pungent, and with a texture that leaves an oily residue all over your tongue as one might imagine feeling in the aftermath of a make out session with one of these drooling, lumbering beasts.

Again, I'll suspend judgment until I'm able to bite into a whole, cooked tongue but for now, despite the density of nutrients, ox tongue is a no-go. Now I need to find some heart...

Banana Bread Beer

A sober, boring bastard, I'd rather drink juice than some concoction designed to hide the alcohol in an "adult" beverage. Even when imbibing the intoxicants I usually stick with one. This strange brew, however, wasn't so much designed to mask the alcoholic bite but to provide a new take on the beer flavor, as in a lambic.

I must admit I was a little saddened to find banana flavoring listed in the ingredients in addition to actual bananas. Being filthy, cheap, and a lover of bananas, I'm often caught cramming the unsavory brown ones into my gaping maw and have occasionally encountered a slight taste of alcohol. Fruit ferments naturally, of course. It's all a matter of culturing the proper microorganisms and adding bananas to an already well-controlled beer accomplishes just that.

There's a definite mingling of both natural and artificial banana aromas in the mix. The beer itself does not deviate in color much from a typical amber ale. The taste is milder than the aroma, subtle enough to be nice but not naturally situated well enough to make me actively want more. Good and interesting, but not amazing enough to warrant the purchase of future bottles. Just as well, I found it in the UK and haven't seen it around these parts.

Black Pudding

Black pudding... readers here in the US (I have readers?) will probably be envisioning a dark chocolate mousse and how horribly wrong they would be. Also called blood sausage, black pudding is congealed blood mixed with some fillers (which can include meat, fat, suet, bread, sweet potato, barley or oatmeal) that is cooked and made into a sausage. It's a traditional breakfast food item in England, Scotland, and Ireland with many other countries around the world having their own variation on the theme.

So, a rather disturbing little dish but I'm a full supporter of the idea that if you're going to slaughter a beast then you should at least give it the honor of using all of its bits for something.

I can't admit to being too disgusted at the thought of eating this little morsel I purchased from the supermarket close to where I was staying in Leeds. I've always been quite fond of picking at the charred blood after cooking a steak and was heartily looking forward to the experience.

The texture is a bit pasty, as one might expect from congealed blood, and interspersed with solid bits that looked somewhat like potato but could very well have been chunks of eyeball, either way would suit me. Being high in iron, the taste is slightly metallic and a bit meaty but altogether rather different than a typical sausage. I would liken it to a liver paste. It's often fried up with the traditional English breakfast but I had mine cold and straight from the deli in order to fully appreciate the flavor.

Not nearly enough protein for me to make it a regular meal item but I'd definitely prefer it over traditional American breakfast items.

Oat Milk

Soy milk, rice milk, and now oat milk, the latest (according to my experience of the world) in the line of plant-based milk substitutes. From what I can gather, oat milk has a bit of an edge on the rest.

Oats have been long associated with good heart health for their cholesterol lowering properties. They're also a great source of "good" carbohydrates and pack a decent amount of dietary fiber. All of these wonderful properties are inherent in this milky concoction. It's also rather tasty but, then again, I'm a fan of raw oats. Rather then make oatmeal/porridge and turn the little grains into mush, I prefer to just add some milk to raw rolled or steel cut oats and dig in. Occasionally, for a quick snack, I'll forgo the milk and just toss a handful of the oats into my feed bag.

The distinct oat taste was dominant in this drink and the crisp, clean flavor gave it a grassy overtone. The texture was smooth, and slightly creamy with a very subtle silty feel. I enjoyed it so much that I drank the entire contents of my container over the course of an evening leaving only a couple mouthfuls for the next morning. But the relatively low calorie count meant that this exercise in gluttony wasn't as disastrous as it would have been with a liter of real milk.

I haven't yet seen the stuff for sale in my local supermarkets in the US and I found this one on a recent trip to England. Here's hoping it makes its way to the States so I make this a regular part of my daily overindulgence.

Chewable Toothbrush

Breaking form a bit, as this is not technically edible, I'm including this because although there is a notice on the package advising you not to swallow the contents, you'd almost certainly survive the resultant ordeal.

A recent emergency forced me to embark on an overseas trip and anyone familiar with the current state of the aviation industry and travel abroad in general will agree that this is a grueling task indeed. One of the most horrible elements of traveling is the filth your body seems to produce during the endless sitting and waiting. Grease and stenches that ought not be possible from pure sedentary activities.

The mouth is one of the most horrendously effected areas of the body. A vile film covers the insides and the teeth grow a thick pelt of fur. With travel restrictions as they are, you may find yourself without toiletries in such a situation or, not wanting to unpack the entirety of your carry-on luggage in an airport bathroom, they may be effectively inaccessible. But fear not, travelers (to the UK, at least) the Chewable Toothbrush is here to help you.

Depositing a one pound coin gives you two little, translucent-green balls containing an odd looking, plastic venus-fly trap. Directions simply instruct you to open the ball, pop the little plastic jaws in your mouth, chew repeatedly, and spit the contents out when done.

The tiny toothbrush is covered in a refreshing minty baking soda based powder. Funnily enough, it feels as though you're chewing on a little plastic toy you purchased from a gum ball machine. I walked around the airport chewing on this thing until I came dangerously close to drooling on myself and then did the sensible thing: spat it into a nearby garbage receptacle.

So, not really edible (unless you want to brave the sensations of those little jaws scraping through your innards and out the other end) but close enough... and effective too. If you're traveling and in serious need of an oral cleansing, I recommend it if they're available.

Escargots

Most sound minded individuals outside of France shudder at the thought of eating a snail. Being that I'm neither from France, nor sound of mind, I've been wanting to try properly prepared escargot for a long time. My only experience with consuming gastropods took place a few years ago when I picked up a couple cans of snails on sale. The experience was less than pleasing and rather dampened my enthusiasm to experiment further but, seeing as though they weren't authentically prepared, I wanted to give the little critters another go.

Being presented with a bowl of steaming snails shells is odd in itself. Picking up the tiny fork and pulling the little slug through its hole to the world is even stranger. A lot firmer than one would expect, escargot has a consistency and texture similar to scallops as opposed to the slimy, softness of an oyster as I was imagining. Biting into one isn't all too unpleasant as may be presumed.

It's incredibly difficult for me to describe the flavor. The garlic and butter from the sauce was a bit dominant but the snail itself, apart from one strong note, is fairly bland. I remember that one strong flavor from my previous, canned experience and had been hoping that it was a component of the marinade but, alas, I was left disappointed. Bitter, but not the kind of bitterness one associates with a strong coffee, hoppy beer, or dark chocolate. This bitterness almost comes across as a direct signal to my mind that it may be unwise to ingest this creature and perhaps I should not proceed any further. But proceed I did until all of the little blighters were gone, their shells empty as my desire to repeat the experience.

So perhaps the taste doesn't quite suit my palette (unrefined as it is) but I am altogether happy to have given it a shot. So, unless banana slugs really do taste like bananas, I think gastropods might be out for me; though I'm quite prepared to continue foraying into the realm of edible "bugs" and such.

Cornish Game Hen

So the wealth of information available on the internet once again destroys my illusions and slays another mythological creature. The Cornish Game Hen, here made and packaged by Tyson and available in major supermarkets, is simply just a complicated name for a young chicken. They are not game, they are nothing but a small chicken, slaughtered before reaching full maturity. USDA regulations simply require that any chicken being sold as the mythological Cornish Game Hen weigh less than 2 pounds and be no more than 5 to 6 weeks old at time of slaughter.

Regardless, the novelty of finding what is often presented as an extravagant food item on clearance was too much for me to resist.

There isn't a lot to say about this one. It is a small chicken. Quickly gathering some recipes from the internet, I chose a quick and easy preparation consisting of butter, salt, and pepper. The diminutive size meant a shorter cooking time and a juicier end-product.

One can't even make the joke that it tastes like chicken because it is chicken. I found nothing different in the flavor to distinguish it from the mature variety and the only distinction was a softer texture which is probably due to the fact that it doesn't take as long to cook.

So if you want to pretend you're posh and impress others, you can probably pick one of these up for a decent price right now. Otherwise, if you want to be more cost effective or try something strange, I'd suggest turkey; they're huge and look a lot weirder.

Fuel Cafe Beer

On a whim I took a trip to the local alcohol megaplex in search of weird intoxicants. While there were some odd spirits in the place, my low tolerance and infrequent alcohol consumption forced me to steer away from the liquors. The wines were a bit too plentiful to tackle but a few strange brews jumped out at me in the beer section.

The first of my purchases and samplings was Fuel Cafe Beer, an American stout brewed specially for the Fuel Cafe in Milwaukee, WI. And what makes it unique and attractive (particularly to myself)? It has coffee added to the mix. Being a lover of all things coffee, I simply couldn't resist.

Most stouts have a burnt aroma and flavor which is understandable considering the malts are roasted, much like coffee beans, to give them such characteristics along with the dark color. Therefore, the pairing of coffee and stouts seems almost natural. The first I'd heard of such a concoction was from a Kurt Vonnegut memoir where he reveals that adding a bit of coffee to the mix was the secret behind the success of his grandfather's award winning stout.

Using Guinness as a point of comparison, this beer is a little lighter and nowhere near as thick. The coffee and stout aromas mingle quite nicely, the difference being so minor that the distinction is subtle.

Being a slave to the burnt, bitter taste of strong coffee, I found nothing unpleasant about the flavors. Again, the distinction was subtle but there are notes not present in stout alone. Beer-wise, not the best stout I've had but not too shabby either. Despite the addition of coffee, it's unlikely I'll be drinking this with any frequency. But since it was quite enjoyable, I'll probably revisit this oddity once in a while.

Dragon Fruit

The name is understandable. One could easily imagine the spawn of some fire-breathing beast to claw its way out of this scaly, crimson egg. But what lies beneath the skin is far less frightening yet still rather surprising.

The three common varieties of dragon fruit, also called pitayas, comes from cactuses of the genus Hylocereus. I had the most common type, Hylocereus undatus, the red pitaya. Its striking resemblance to the prickly pear made me think this at first but the soft, sensitive skin and succulent innards caused me to doubt my initial impression. The full-sized fruit is about as big as a mango and has a similar yet less weighty feel (because it lacks a large pit in the middle).

Slicing open the dragon fruit exposes its shocking secret. Beneath the scaly red skin is a pure white flesh full of tiny black seeds. The aroma is flowery and sweet, like a fresh flower on a dewy morning. The flesh looks like a bleached watermelon and, apart from the crunchy little seeds, has a very similar texture.

Despite the grand buildup caused by the odd look and pleasant aroma, the initial taste is confusingly underwhelming.

"This doesn't taste like anything."

Tasteless but not bland, it's hard to describe. However, the more bites you take, the more prevalent the subtle flavors become. Creamy, floral, sweet, and nectar-like; perhaps the mildness of the flavor is a good thing as a bolder expression of these characteristics could be overwhelming. If it weren't for the price, I could definitely make a regular snack out of this fruit. With any luck the few seeds I planted will sprout (like my prickly pear seeds did).

A very pleasant experience indeed. The dragon fruit isn't only a strange sight to behold but also a subtly delicious treat. Look for them in the refrigerated part of the produce section in your local supermarket.

Crenshaw Melon

Although I promised never to include something here again based on its enormity but I swear it wasn't the size that drew me to the crenshaw. Looking more like a gourd than a melon, I must admit that I had high hopes for this mass of ugliness.

The crenshaw (also spelled cranshaw) is cultivar of the Muskmelon species, like the honeydew but the fruit does not look much like its sibling. Yellow and with the appearance of shriveled skin, I was expecting something a bit more musky but, much to my dismay, the pale orange flesh tasted more like a bland cantaloupe. This is not to imply that it was bad in anyway, simply not as exotic and flavorful as I had expected.

I think I've learned my lesson with melons. However, if there are any particularly strange and delicious varieties out there, please throw one my way... just not too hard.

Pork Rinds

Yes, pork rinds are very commonplace and disregarding the fact that I think most people find them strange despite their widespread availability, the disturbing nature intrinsic to fried pieces of pig skin is not my reason for including them here among my studies of sickening snacks. So put your soiled undershirts on and hear me out for a second.

I used to be a porker myself and in order not to revert to my naturally round state I must adhere, with unwavering insanity, to a strict diet and exercise regimen. You have no idea what it takes to counteract the weight expanding effect of some of the foods I sample here for you, dear reader. But imagine you are in the chip and snack aisle in the super market, what would be the last thing you'd pick up if trying to stay fit and lean? Pork rinds, right? Funnily enough, they ought to be one of the first bags you reach for.

You see, pork rinds are full of fat. Unfortunately, fat has been so vilified in modern society over the past 20-30 years that it's become anathema to anyone seeking a healthy diet. But fat is essential to our bodily health and people are now having to take fatty acid supplements to make up for the dearth of a reasonable daily consumption of fat.

According to Men's Health magazine "43 percent of a pork rind's fat is unsaturated, and most of that is oleic acid -- the same healthy fat found in olive oil. Another 13 percent of its fat content is stearic acid, a type of saturated fat that's considered harmless, because it doesn't raise cholesterol levels." They also contain zero carbs and a one ounce serving has 17 grams of protein, a far better nutritional profile than your average potato chip. Needless to say, downing an entire bag in a couple hours isn't going to do you any good. Like all foods, pork rinds should be consumed in moderation but the satiating nature of protein and fat rich foods should help ensure that this snack isn't something you'll overindulge on.

For those of you who have never tried them, pork rinds are fluffy and crispy, tasting like fat with a slight pork flavor, just what you'd expect from fried pieces of pig skin.

So, by no means am I encouraging you to "pig out"... I'm just letting you know that they aren't such a bad alternative.

Kopi Luwak

In the Indonesian islands of Sumatra, Java, and Sulawesi there lives Paradoxurus hermaphroditus, a small creature commonly known as the Asian Palm Civet. This cat-like creature can be thought of as the Asian equivalent of a raccoon in form and function. It has a varied diet and feeds primarily upon exotic fruits like mango, chiku, and rambutan. A lot of coffee grows in these Indonesian Islands and the Asian Palm Civet also likes to feast on the coffee cherries. Being a hardy little fruit, the cherry often leaves the civet with some flesh still covering the bean. That is to say, the coffee beans survive the digestive processes of the civet and are defecated out intact.

And this is where it gets strange.

People then collect the beans from the excrement, yes they pluck the partially digested cherries from the poo. The carefully selected fecal matter is taken away and washed, hopefully quite thoroughly. The clean beans are then roasted, packaged, and sold for $120-600 per pound, making it one of the most expensive food items in the world. That's some expensive shit. [Please forgive me for my inability to let that cliche pass unuttered.]

Why, you may ask, would people go to all this trouble and pay such exorbitant prices for something so conceptually disgusting? The partial digestion of the coffee beans changes their chemical composition and thus the flavor. Even seasoned coffee lovers can sometimes be taken aback by the bitterness and acidity of their favorite brew and the Asian Palm Civet has unknowingly found a remedy to this situation. Kopi Luwak has the distinct and bold taste one associates with coffee but without the bitter and acid notes. The flavor is smooth and bold and the lack of any caustic elements makes sweeteners absolutely unnecessary. For those who can't typically manage drinking coffee black, this would be the cup of java that changes your mind.

It is by the good will of another individual that I came to sample Kopi Luwak and even though the experience was highly enjoyable I don't think I'll be paying the high price for any further imbibing in the near future. Besides, there's something wholly satisfying about that bitter kick in my horrendously strong coffee... like a raging alcoholic taking a swig from their flask, it's strangely enjoyable to feel the burn, to savor the wonderful flavors and the tasking bitterness all at once. But, on the other hand, it is a lot fun to tell people that you're drinking poo.

Chocolate Soda

Have you ever wanted to drink a carbonated Tootsie Roll? Well, if you have then you're a) disgusting and b) in luck.

Canfield's Diet Chocolate Fudge brings back memories; horrid memories of projectile vomiting, diarrhea, jet lag, and the tumultuous transition from the place of my childhood to a frightening foreign land. No, this strange swill didn't cause any of these things but it's forever entwined with the experience.

In 1991 I came to the US with my family. I was young and it was my first time on a plane. The first four hours went fantastically but then I had my initial encounter with airline food. What followed during the remaining ten hours of the flight still exhausts me just thinking about it but there was one upside to the whole ordeal. It turns out that you can get through customs and immigration really fast if you have three children dry heaving so violently that their noses are bleeding... apparently that buys you an express ticket to the front of the line.

After a couple hours in the car we finally made it to our temporary destination where I was greeted with some very strange beverage choices, one of them being chocolate soda. I don't remember the brand so I can't blame Canfield for the resultant disaster but the stomach demons were awakened once again.

I was a little worried when I saw this stuff for sale at the local super market. Funnily enough, it wasn't with the rest of the sodas. Instead it was in a little section containing those strange diet teas (read: laxatives) and other oddities. Maybe the vomiting is actually a dieting tactic.

There isn't much to say about the taste beyond the Tootsie Roll juice description. I guess you could compare it to a very thin chocolate syrup, the cheapest kind you can buy. There's no sugar and the artificial sweetener is so overbearing that I could barely manage to swallow a couple mouthfuls. In fact, there's no nutritional value whatsoever, zeroes across the board.

This beverage was apparently incredibly successful for a few years in the 80s and I was about to say something like "and I can't imagine why" but then I reminisced with myself about that ridiculous decade for a couple seconds. And although these cans had probably been sitting on the shelf there since the early 90s, I didn't start vomiting this time but I wasn't able to get beyond a few sips so I might have if I had soldiered through the entire can. There's five left, who wants them? Drink at your own risk.

Aprium

Apriums are recently developed hybrids of, as the name may suggest, apricots and plums. Those fearful of "frankenfoods" and the genetic engineering/maniuplation of plants to advance, enhance, or enrich the viability and variability of consumer produce ought stay away as this is an entirely "unnatural" being. I fear not the sweet nectar of science.

Apricots and plums are members of the genus Prunus which also includes peaches, cherries, and almonds, hence the physical similarities between the fruits and pits and the potential for hybridization.

The fruit appears to be a larger than normal apricot with a deeper orange hue. This confuses the employees at your local supermarket where, although the fruit came from a basket marked aprium, the absence of an entry in the store's produce database leads them to run around frantically until they proclaim, unanimously, that the thing is an apricot.

"It's actually an aprium."

"Yeah, that's the same thing as an apricot."

Taxonomy and facts aside, the aprium indeed looks and smells a lot like an apricot. Dig in and you'll find the flesh combines the distinctive flavor of the apricot with the incredible sweetness and texture of the plum. The skin almost seems unsuited for containing the succulence of the ripe flesh inside and appears to bruise easily but without any significant impact on the taste.

Hybrids are interesting but this isn't one I'd go out of my way to buy again. With apricots costing about the same and plums much cheaper, I think I'll just stick with the parents. I do, however, appreciate the science and novelty. What will they think of next? I'm hoping for a cross between an orange and a banana... an orana. Just think of the possibilities... well, the one possibility: Orana Tang. I'd drink to that.