Last week, I reported on Milagro Cantina in Kirkland, paying particular attention to its avocado dishes (and what they tell us about how old you have to be to have sex).
This week, Poquitos, another new Mexican restaurant, opened in Capitol Hill. The guacamole was good here, too, and I also enjoyed the chance to sample salsas (with fine chips, fried in-house in rice oil to make them thin and crispy, but less greasy), ceviche, soup, and some tacos. (The tacos de hongos–with roasted mushrooms, grilled onions, chipotle, and cojita–were my favorites.) Oh, and aquas frescas (go for the horchata) and paletas (popsicles–go for the pineapple).
But memories of these things pale in comparison to the one dish that’s still etched in my mind: chapulines.
Chapulines are grasshoppers, and they’re a real delicacy in Mexico, roasted with chile pepper, lime, and salt. I did a double-take when servers brought out bowls of them, but this was no joke. Excited, I dove right in.
So what do Poquitos’ grasshoppers teach us about sex?
(No, this isn’t about formicophilia. That would take live grasshoppers, I suppose. Look it up.)
It’s all about experimentation.
In my college lectures, when a student asks me what my favorite sexual position is, I always answer, “The one I’ve yet to discover.” Isn’t that what sex should be all about?
There’s always something different to discover. Sometimes, like eating a grasshopper, it just takes courage.
So how do you find these new positions?
- Porn. Yep. You might not have the acrobatic skills, strength, or stamina to do them all, but watch and you might get inspired to add something to your repertoire.
- Position books. Okay, that’s not what they’re called, but do an Internet search of “sexual position books” and you’ll find plenty of Joy of Sex and Kama Sutra and even Position of the Day guides to keep you busy.
- Plain old playin’ around. See what fits. What works. What feels good. Laugh and learn.
As for those chapulines? They made me laugh. They were crisp, though surprisingly slightly creamy inside (enough to serve as a reminder that they are creatures), and a perfect accompaniment to beer. Or, said the chef, beaming with cultural pride, an ideal topping for tlayudas (flatbreads).
I hope such tlayudas make the menu. Or that the grasshoppers at least survive as bar snacks. Poquitos is testing reactions, but I advised them to go for it. As with “playing the cello” or “advanced black bee” (a good name for entomophiles!) or other obscure sex positions, you can’t know if you like something if you don’t know it exists. And then, as Mikey did with his cereal, you simply try it. That’s Life.
First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on March 31, 2011.