Frog Legs? Yes, please.

Some Singaporeans have gently chided me for not being more adventurous with the local cuisine. So recently I've tried to man-up (woman-up?) and try new things. My pastor got me to eat chicken feet (it improves your handwriting, didn't you know?) and urged me to have some friends take me out for frog legs. I had some serious reservations (I mean, how often is frog on the menu in the U.S.?), but eventually I swallowed my fear and asked my small group if they'd help culture me. So last night we went to a place in Geylang, where I played ang mo-tourist for the evening, taking pictures of everything - buildings, cars, signs, durian, old men.

I had been told (warned) beforehand that some of the shops which sell frog legs actually have the live frogs in tanks out front; probably to assure customers that their legs are, indeed, quite fresh. But when we arrived at the frog leg shop, there were no frogs to be seen. This was when I made a grave mistake: out of sheer curiosity, I asked to see where the live frogs were kept. The man running the shop looked at me like I was a bit off, then eyeing the camera in my hand, he shrugged and pointed to a hawker centre across the street. One of my friends and I wandered over and began our search for the frogs, eventually meandering through part of the kitchen and washroom, but to no avail. Finally we asked another woman if she could help us and, with an expression similar to that of the first man's, she pointed to an alcove in the back of the shop which we'd passed several times. It took us a moment to realize that the large crates stacked against the wall contained our next meal and that the suspicious looking bucket, instruments, and gloves stacked next to them (over a red-stained drain) were where our frogs met their untimely ends. Basically, we were standing in the slaughtering room. Disturbed, we thanked her and quickly left.

Across the street, I pulled myself together and after a moment of hesitation (and some prayer) we ate our frog legs and rice porridge. I won't lie, even after the discovery of the slaughter room, the frog legs tasted really good. I've mentioned earlier that I am not the most adventurous of eaters, but it really wasn't bad! Actually, if it weren't for the fact that there is significantly less meat to be had on a frog than on a chicken, I'd even venture to say that frog is the better of the two! It isn't as chewy as chicken, rather its texture is more like fish but without the fishy taste! Served with ginger and some greens, it was delicious!

Ironically, as we were walking back to the MRT we discovered another frog leg shop, which did have live frogs on display out front. There were two tanks, one of which contained about two dozen of the medium-sized amphibians we'd just eaten. But the other tank contained two HUGE frogs. These guys were the size of smallish rabbits. The two shop managers, noting my curiosity, invited me to take a picture and told me the big ones were just a few months old. I asked them if the large frogs were for eating and one manager smiled and said "No, they're for feeding." Naturally, I thought this meant they were pets, so I asked what their names were. The two men stared at me, glanced at each other, and burst out laughing. Evidently, this was a weird question. Outside the shop a table of bemused men, who'd overheard my exchange with the managers, began to animatedly mime eating frog legs.

My small group girls told me that the frog-leg shop owners are not usually so obliging and suggested that perhaps overly-curious ang mo don't turn up that often.

Next on the menu: pig intestine and turtle soup!

(I think I'll call him Dave)