From Crickets to Crustaceans: Is It Gross, or Just What You’ve Been Taught?

There’s a moment, just before I eat, where I pause. I think about the fact that something—plant or animal—had to die so I could live. And so, before I eat, I take a quiet moment, and I whisper to the food: “We thank the lifeforms who gave up their lives so ours could continue. Bless the food.”

It’s small. But it helps me remember where my food comes from. That it didn’t magically appear on a plate. It was once a living thing, part of a system, part of the world. That awareness matters—especially now, when so much of our food system is designed to make us forget.

When I was young, my mother kept a garden, we had fruit trees, and we raised chickens—not just for eggs, but for meat. I have a very distinct memory of watching my mother behead a chicken, and then pluck the feathers. I knew full well from a young age where food came from.

I thought of this again recently while browsing Reddit. I saw a post in r/isthissafetoeat about a blood clot in fresh meat from a butcher shop. (Babe, where did you think it came from?)

Then there was another one: someone complaining that their “organic” bagged salad had a worm in it. (Yeah... what do you think organic means?)

These weren’t bad questions. They were honest ones. But they reminded me just how far removed many people are from the basics of food and where it comes from. We've been trained to expect sterility, not reality.

We’ve been told what food is supposed to be:

• That breakfast must include milk and cereal.

• That protein only comes from animals.

• That fat makes you fat.

• That kale is healthy, but bugs are gross.

• That real meals require packaging.
  

None of this is universal. It’s cultural. And more often than not, it’s profitable.

Living abroad breaks that illusion. You see people thriving on diets completely different from yours—eating things that would raise eyebrows back home. Seaweed. Crickets. Mealworms. Rice three times a day. And it makes you question where your own ideas about “healthy” came from. Was it really about nutrition? Or about selling cereal and dairy in bulk? Suddenly, the food pyramid you grew up with looks less like science… and more like a marketing pyramid.

And when you’re no longer tethered to what’s familiar, you start to ask real questions: What do I actually need? What am I paying for? What am I avoiding just because I was told to?

Meat is one of the biggest illusions of all. It’s framed as necessity, status, even masculinity. But the truth is:

• You don’t need it to survive.

• You don’t need it to be healthy.

• And soon, most people won’t be able to afford it anyway.
  

The rising cost of meat isn’t just inflation—it’s a signal. A sign that the systems we’ve depended on for cheap, abundant food are under strain. Environmental pressure, economic inequality, disease risk—they’re converging in ways that make the old way harder to sustain.

Cattle for example, require massive amounts of land, feed, and water. They produce enormous waste and methane. And as prices rise and climate pressures mount, meat will become a luxury—if not an outright rarity—for much of the world.

And that’s before we even talk about disease, such as prions—those fatal, untreatable proteins that cause conditions like mad cow disease—aren’t just limited to cattle anymore. Chronic Wasting Disease is spreading among wild deer and elk across North America, and it's not just an animal problem. Scientists are increasingly concerned about human exposure through hunting, meat processing, and consumption. The disease has already jumped species in lab conditions, and public health experts warn it's only a matter of time before we see human cases. This isn’t theoretical—it’s a danger that’s already present in our food system.

So what’s next? Maybe it’s time we stop looking backward at the food we’ve lost, and start looking forward at what’s possible. Insects. Algae. Mycoprotein. Things that sound unappetizing now—but only because we’ve been taught they are. In other parts of the world, they’re already on the plate.

Living abroad shows you this firsthand. You see how other countries are experimenting, adapting, and thriving—often with less waste, fewer resources, and more resilience. You find bug snacks in night markets. Seaweed in daily meals. Plant-based dishes that aren’t just substitutes—they’re the default. You start to realize that the future of food isn’t science fiction. It’s just outside the borders of what you grew up with.

These foods aren’t just survival strategies. They’re windows into how much more is possible when you let go of the version of “normal” you were sold.

But change doesn’t have to come from crisis. It can come from curiosity. From seeing how other people live, eat, and adapt—often with fewer resources and more creativity than we’re used to.

That’s one of the unexpected gifts of life abroad. It shows you that there’s more than one way to eat, to live, to nourish a body. And that maybe the things you once thought were strange—are only strange because you didn’t grow up with them.

We can choose to shift. To learn. To try what’s new—or simply unfamiliar. To be grateful for the lives—plant, animal, or insect—that nourish us. And to ask ourselves not just; what do I want to eat, but, what am I willing to learn from the rest of the world?