Last night I was one spoonful away from eating monkey brain soup. Apparently me eating it was a test of courageousness and honor. If I were to pass the test, I’d be well on my way to becoming a hero or sorts, capable of defeating even my worst enemies (who, by the way, I’ve never even met). So late last night there I sat next to my brother, Daniel, both of us with big 1/2 gallon sized bowls of monkey brain soup staring us in the face, wondering what we’d gotten ourselves in to.

Let’s rewind about 4 hours. Daniel and I were hauled more-or-less against our will by a dozen people to a bizarre underground house/kitchen/restaurant place. I say ‘more-or-less’ because a part of me was rather curious as to where they were taking us in such a hurry. When we arrived, we entered what looked like a mud hut, but we immediately took a long flight of stairs downward to a large dining area. The furniture was a healthy balance between my old university’s chemistry lab, an urban Swedish home, and a Victorian ranch house. Wow. Someone call the decorator.
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