"She looks like a foreigner"

[(Appetite) Spoiler Alert: The photos in this post may not be suitable for those who have recently eaten or are planning to do so in the near future.]

Up until two hours ago, I had not much of interest to post today. But, as I've said before, leave it to Trang to make life bloggable. She took me out to dinner for crab porridge and hột vịt lộn, the fertilized duck eggs. I thought the eggs would be just like last time, but these were fresh. And contrary to what I initially understood, fresh doesn't mean recently gathered. It means raw. I'm glad I waited to follow Trang's lead before cracking into one. She summoned the waiter, who took four eggs away. Hey, I thought, bring my food back! (This was before I knew they were raw.) Then he returned with a bowl full of red that he poured into our crab hot pot. I asked Trang what he had just added to the soup.
- Nothing.
- Nothing? He just poured a bowlful of stuff into it.
- Oh, the eggs. They are fresh!
So we didn't eat raw duck fetuses. We just had a bowl full of fetus and yolk and blood poured into the soup to boil before we ate it. And we let it boil a good long time.

This dinner confirmed:

1. It is a good thing it was dark the first time I had hột vịt lộn. 
2. I prefer hột vịt lộn not in soup.
3. Even after getting altogether too good a look at it, I still like eating hột vịt lộn.

The meal was kind of an interesting mental negotiation. I wanted to take the best picture to gross out you, my dear readers, and impress upon you the awesomeness of my digestive powers, while not doing such a good job as to ruin my own appetite. I succeeded. Ms. Trang helped by giving me her fetus, which was significantly 'duckier' than the one she originally served me.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the guy who parked Ms. Trang's motorcycle stared at me and commented to her, "She looks like a foreigner." "Because she is." Throughout our meal, we had many beggars/lottery ticket sellers come by our table. One of them asked if I was French, even though we had been talking loudly in English until he interrupted us. Ms. Trang told me that usually people ask if I am Indian, Malaysian, Brazilian, or Argentinean. But most often it is guessed that I am from some Southeast Asian country. From other conversational meanderings, I learned that having small feet is a sign of good fortune, because in ancient days it was a trait associated with nobility (e.g. foot binding). So I guess I've got lucky feet.

The spread. Fairly unassuming. Last chance to stop scrolling.

See that red in the upper left? The eggs just got added.

Aaand it's a duck. In my bowl.