I have to draw the line somewhere.
The dish in front of me is grey and shiny.
“Russian dog,” says my waitress Nancy.
“Big dog,” I reply.
“Yes,” she says. “Big dog’s penis…”
We are in a cosy restaurant in a dark street in Beijing but my appetite seems to have gone for a stroll outside.
Nancy has brought out a whole selection of delicacies.
They are draped awkwardly across a huge platter, with a crocodile carved out of a carrot as the centrepiece.
Nestling beside the dog’s penis are its clammy testicles, and beside that a giant salami-shaped object.
“Donkey,” says Nancy. “Good for the skin…”
I’m sorry, but butchering random animals, sometimes endangered animals, for the purpose of consuming arbitrary small bits of their anatomy because of a perceived magical benefit…no, thanks. Besides, if driving a big car is a sign of a tiny penis, I suspect anyone caught needing to consume a tiger’s erectile organ is deeply inadequate, not just in the crotch, but the brain as well.