I went to Malmö, Sweden, recently. That’s the sort of thing you can do here – travel to a different country on a whim and forty minutes.

It was very pretty, especially the old town. I spent most of the day wandering around the city just to soak it in. A man invited me into an art gallery; I perused beautiful wares from some of Sweden’s finest artisans.

I’m trying to be the kind of person who says yes to things. That’s partially the reason why I tried the tasting challenge at Malmö’s Museum of Disgusting Food.

Normally, I wouldn’t touch the kind of stuff they have to offer with a ten-foot pole. Grasshoppers, june beetles, roasted larvae (can you tell I have an aversion to bugs?)
It almost felt insulting to me as a Singaporean to have durian and Spam (obviously sustenance of the gods) included amongst these. But hey, it’s all relative.

So, after going through the museum and reading about all the disgusting food from all over the world, I naturally agreed to try some. Because that’s just the kind of person I am now.

The dreaded insects went down surprisingly easy. The most difficult part was overcoming the mental block, which I did so by firmly telling myself that I ate crayfish and rather enjoyed it, and this was pretty much the same as a tiny crayfish.
In truth, the experience was better than expected because of their dissimilarity to a crayfish. If the insects had been gooey, or in any way moist like a crustacean, I probably would have thrown in the towel right there and then. But they felt texturally more like hard chips than anything else.
The dryness wasn’t completely enjoyable – the beetles nearly cut up my mouth with their shattered carapaces. But it was tolerable, and the taste ranged from nutty to almost flavourless. 5/10, would have larvae again.

I got through the rest of the options on the menu fairly easily, except for one unexpected item. The salty liquorice (salmiaklakrits) triggered my body to believe someone was physically attacking me. Genuinely, my gut reaction was to recoil from the extreme saltiness as if someone had punched me in the mouth. So, my advice is to reject that particular treat if someone offers it to you. In fact, take it as a declaration of war – that person is not your friend.

The museum offers an optional chilli sauce tasting portion of the challenge. Of course, these are not ordinary, sriracha-style sauces you’d get from the Asian grocery store. These are the calibre of chillies people devote YouTube channels to – the Scofield scores prominently displayed on placards had intimidating amounts of zeroes tacked on.

I, however, was in my element. After years spent training my mind and body with my mum’s garlic chilli, I had not yet met a spice I couldn’t lick (literally.) This occasion was no different.

The sample size was just a toothpick’s worth of sauce, placed directly on the middle of the tongue. It was really a pleasant burn, also alleviated by the milk the museum staff allowed you afterwards. I did have an amusing exchange with the staff member who was overseeing my tasting, at the last and hottest chilli sauce.

“Suck the toothpick for fifteen seconds,” he advised me.
“Why?”
“It’s better it dissolves in your mouth than in your stomach.”

Fair enough.

And after ensuring that I would not drop dead after that ordeal, the staff let me spin the museum’s prize wheel to see what reward I would get for finishing. I was hoping for a free t-shirt, or perhaps a hot chocolate, but instead I was given another grasshopper.

I downed it grimly and went on my way.