“Ong Tay, an com!” a small voice cried out from the other side of my door. One of the little girls that stays at our house while her mother works, she came down to tell me it was time to eat. Literally translated, it is something like, “Mr. westerner, come eat rice.” That is my name, since most people in this house can’t pronounce Caleb; “Tay” – west or westerner has to suffice. How refreshing!
It’s about 7:30 in the evening on a Saturday, Bing’s sister and brother-in-law have come over – as they so often do – for supper. It’s an impressive spread, dishes crowd the table, leaving little room for maneuvering – and I sit at my unofficially assigned spot next to Mr. Tang the master of the house. At first glance the selection of cuisine seems to be not too unfamiliar, rice, rice noodles, a saucer of pickled white and green onions, a plate of tangy lettuce. As for the meat, a pile of fish nuggets fried to a golden brown finish all seated on a bed of fried dill leaf, chives and basil; cuts of chicken with a salt and lemon dipping sauce; and a thinly sliced red meat I hadn’t seen before.
After the family gathered and sat down, we began to reduce the culinary archipelago, one chopstick click at a time. After pouring me a glass, Bing’s brother-in-law pointed to the red meat and said, “Hey, eat, it’s dock.” I wasn’t quite sure what he said it was on account of his accent so I verified, “You mean duck?” He shook his head, so I looked at him a bit blankly – not sure what sort of meat it was. Then a thought crossed my mind, “Oh, you mean dog?” I asked and followed it with a barking sound. He smiled and said, “Yes, good!”
Well, I knew this would happen sooner or later, so, I took a slice of juicy red dog meat, dipped it in a dark grey and cloudy fish sauce which smelled like death itself, and began to chew. I must confess, Lassie tasted great, much better than I expected, it was just a beef-like meat with a bit of a strong “gamey” flavor. I could feel the reproach of the millions of “Tay” pouring upon me at that moment. So naturally, I went for more dog meat to assuage my guilt. To be honest, I wasn’t feeling that bad, but perhaps I did feel a slight twinge for the poor pooch who “took one for the team”.
After polishing off the Pomeranian (or whatever breed it was), we had a delectable dessert of rambutan and mango – another benefit of living near the tropics, and I went back downstairs to my room. I have to consider myself fortunate to have a host family, and I would recommend it to anyone the first few months that one lives in a new country. Having a maid to cook such a kingly feast is something I couldn’t manage if I lived on my own, so I eat whatever is put on the table – even if it is dog meat with dill weed.
asienizen 
Nice. I’d like to try dog some day, but probably won’t have the opportunity very soon. We had milt today, which most westerners find repulsive, but for different reasons than dog.