“Jolie: I feed My Son on Insects” is the headline of a report flung into cyberspace this morning by British tabloid The Sun. The bird who used to wear a vial of her then-hubby’s blood around her neck crows that she introduced her 5-year-old son to a crunchy snack popular in his birth country: “I recently took Mad to Cambodia and it was the first trip there where he really understood it. We took him to a restaurant in the middle of the night and he had his first plate of crickets.”
The Sun heads off potential xenophobic hysteria by pointing out that the critters “are often served with guts intact.”
Can you believe that this chef didn’t have the common decency — or would it be dexterity? — to perform the simple procedure known in the culinary world as “entrailectomy”? Sheesh. It’s not like it takes more than a passing knowledge of cricket anatomy, or any special skill other than the ability to wield a teensy knife with one hand while keeping a magnifying glass steady in the other. I mean, just get some tips from French chefs, notoriously adept at fishing out escargot innards. (They do remove those snail entrails, right?)
The real question is, why did the cricket feast have to take place in the middle of the night, instead of simply waiting till mealtime?