A Sneak Peek Into a Famous Chinese Delicacy Most Wouldn't Dare to Try

    It all started last Saturday when I went on a run at Tom Sawyer State Park with my friend, Grace. The weather was sunny yet mild, without the usual assault of heat and humidity that comes with Kentucky's summer weather. As we cruised along the trails, our breathing steady and rhythmic, we couldn't help but notice a constant, shrill buzzing noise in the leaves above us. Actually, the sound was so loud that it was impossible not to notice. The cacophonous symphony overhead, along with the multitude of translucent brown exoskeleton molts that dotted almost every tree trunk, confirmed the presence of cicadas. And not that, but it confirmed that it was time for their emergence from the ground, a rare occurrence that happened only once every 17 years. 

    A few days later, I drove to my friend Addie's house, intent on eating one of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked earlier that day. While sitting at her dining table, I noticed a plate of what I thought were fried cicada nymphs. At first, the thought was merely just a humorous play of my imagination—a random dish-out of an idea that was a half-joke and wasn't expected to be true. However, upon further inspection, I realized I was right: here in front of me were a plate of fried cicada nymphs, curled into the fetal position next to and on top of one another, glistening with the oil they had been fried in just moments prior. 

 The plate of fried cicada nymphs I saw at Addie's house     
 

    Being part of a Chinese family, frying cicadas wasn't unheard of. I have a vague memory from when I was around three or four years old, munching on the golden-brown nymphs like they were peanuts. Even though I wasn't fully aware that I was eating an actual insect (there's only a certain level of lucidity that a child of that age can achieve), I can clearly recall the crispy texture, almost like crunchier popcorn. Of course, whether or not I would eat fried cicadas today as a 17-year-old teenager is a completely different story. However, both of my parents confirmed that they've eaten fried cicadas multiple times throughout their lives. "We ate cicadas all the time when I was a kid," said my dad, as he took a hearty bite from a wrap made of fried cicadas and a tortilla. "Your aunt can eat 200 cicadas in one sitting."

    For the past few nights, fueled by curiosity and a lack of anything better to do, I was able to witness firsthand the process of collecting cicadas, both nymph and adult, under the guidance of Addie's mom, Mrs. Li. It's simple: you carry a plastic bag and a flashlight in one hand, and wear a glove on the other. The cicadas can usually be found crawling or resting on the trunk of a tree, as well as the branches overhead and on the underside of leaves. The nymphs can be identified through their golden-brown coloration, lack of wings, and striped appearance, while the adults have triangular-shaped black bodies and distinct yellow-orange wings. The best time to maximize cicada collection is during dusk or later, when the nymphs begin to slowly crawl out from the ground and onto the tree trunk, where they will sit through their last molt before adulthood (unless they are unfortunate enough to be abducted from the tree and find themselves inside a sizzling hot pan). 

    To be completely transparent, I was afraid to pluck the cicada from the tree at first. Seeing their thin, segmented legs wiggling around in the air awoke a deep, innate fear inside me that must've been what kept our ancestors safe in the age of cavemen. And don't even get me started on the pure amount of cicadas—nymphs, adults, and empty exoskeletons, too—that littered the floor around the trunk of the tree, which alone made my skin crawl. However, I was soon accustomed to the familiar crunch that sounded underfoot with every step I took, and seeing the helplessness of the cicadas once they parted from the tree, their little appendages waving in the air like those of a newborn baby, removed a great portion of that fear. This experience unveiled the true nature of cicadas as mild, gentle insects who are just trying to molt out of their shell after spending the last seventeen years underground.