The morning after I visited Next Millennium Farms, my digestive system expelled its first cricket exoskeleton. There it was, floating on the water’s edge of my hotel room toilet: a translucent thoracic shell with three legs still attached. Presumably, the fourth got lost in the gastrointestinal shuffle, but I didn’t look long enough to try and spot it, or any of this particular insect’s friends and relatives. I had been eating a lot of them.
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