I don’t know what they’re called in English. “Maeng Mao” are like unevolved termites that by some evolutionary twist have wings. On rainy nights they come out in swarms in a frenzied flutter of death. So desperate are they to get to a light bulb that they’ll squeeze through window screens and beat their flimsy wings until they fall off. I think that’s the point because maybe it’s a last flap after mating. They don’t seem the fittest insect to me.
My first experience of them was in Thailand. On a rainy maeng night, I was trying to seal my screens in defense when by chance I took a look at my bathroom where they were pouring in through the slotted concrete. The cloud was so intense that there was a disco flicker effect against the light. What scared me most was the big toad in the corner having such a field day that I was sure I’d witness its stomach explode.
They come like a quiet plague. Street lamps attract so many that the detached wings cover the pavement like parchment snow. They’re hard to sweep up because they’re so airborne. It’s a bit strange that the quiet remains of such an orgy of death are delicate brown wings.
I knew that people ate them, but it seemed too easy a prey to make it even delicious. After all, you just sweep your porch, wash them and fry them in oil. The wings curl like roasted tea or tiny kelp. Some say you don’t eat that part, just the body part.
Now, the twist to this whole story is that they are delicious. They’re crisp and salty like seaweed and nutty like peanuts. They would be outrageously delicious over a bowl of hot rice and I’m sure Japanese would love them. I’d eat them with fermented natto beans with a raw egg. They’d make good “Maeng musubi” or “terminte onigiri.”
I told my Japanese friend who runs a restaurant. Surely a new hit on the menu. She told me I had turned Lao.
My first experience of them was in Thailand. On a rainy maeng night, I was trying to seal my screens in defense when by chance I took a look at my bathroom where they were pouring in through the slotted concrete. The cloud was so intense that there was a disco flicker effect against the light. What scared me most was the big toad in the corner having such a field day that I was sure I’d witness its stomach explode.
They come like a quiet plague. Street lamps attract so many that the detached wings cover the pavement like parchment snow. They’re hard to sweep up because they’re so airborne. It’s a bit strange that the quiet remains of such an orgy of death are delicate brown wings.
I knew that people ate them, but it seemed too easy a prey to make it even delicious. After all, you just sweep your porch, wash them and fry them in oil. The wings curl like roasted tea or tiny kelp. Some say you don’t eat that part, just the body part.
Now, the twist to this whole story is that they are delicious. They’re crisp and salty like seaweed and nutty like peanuts. They would be outrageously delicious over a bowl of hot rice and I’m sure Japanese would love them. I’d eat them with fermented natto beans with a raw egg. They’d make good “Maeng musubi” or “terminte onigiri.”
I told my Japanese friend who runs a restaurant. Surely a new hit on the menu. She told me I had turned Lao.
