Sssupper.

Was the waiter's name really Mr. Feng?

Hanoi, Vietnam – “Would you like some more bile?”

I can honestly say it’s a conversation I never would have imagined having.

Particularly after having just dropped a cobra’s still-beating heart into a shot glass of its own blood, mixed with rice wine. Now, it was the same process with the snake’s bile.

Bottoms up.

The lump in my chest was to be expected, but the heart stuck in there wasn’t mine.

For weeks, Katrina and I have talked of visiting the Nguyen Van Duc Snake Restaurant in the far east end of the city, but finally built it into our schedules tonight. We made a conscious effort to check our ethical concerns at the door for a couple hours, and to simply take in the experience.

Plate after plate arrived at the table: our cobra – which had only minutes before wound its way toward us on the restaurant’s floor before being hooked by a handler – had been sautéed, grilled and folded into spring rolls. There was also a surprising amount of liver, but at least everything was used.

Its skin had been fried into cracklins and we were presented with bowls of snake head soup. I bit it before it could bite me.

And yes, it tastes like chicken.

That's what I'm telling myself, anyway.