Eating the crawling feast: a history of insect delicacies in Asia

Japan’s mountainous regions, especially Nagano, are among Asia’s best-documented cases of insect cuisine as survival food. With limited land for livestock, protein was supplemented by what the fields and rivers offered: locusts, bee larvae and wasp pupae.

Inago no tsukudani—locusts simmered slowly in soy sauce and sugar until glossy—was a farmer’s dish, preserved like seaweed or sardines for the winter months. Hachinoko, or bee larvae and pupae collected from wasp nests, became both sustenance and a delicacy, usually sautéed with soy sauce and mirin. These were not everyday luxuries but community-shared foods, often associated with seasonal festivals.

Today, Japan frames insect cuisine as heritage. Gifu still celebrates an insect-eating festival, Hebo Matsuri, where traditional dishes are presented alongside experiments like cricket ramen or grasshopper chocolate, reframing insects as both nostalgic and modern.

See more: Would you try eating cricket ramen while in Japan?

If one country defines the global image of insect street food, it’s Thailand. Night markets in Bangkok brim with skewers of fried crickets, grasshoppers, silkworms and scorpions. But beyond tourism, insects have long been rural staples in Isaan and northern provinces.

Bamboo worms, called rot duan, are often called “the French fries of the forest”—fried to a crisp exterior with creamy interiors, eaten by handfuls. Giant water bugs (look for maeng da) are less consumed whole than used for their essence: crushed into chilli pastes, their secretions perfume dishes with a briny, floral note that gourmands liken to the complexity of truffles. Ant eggs (khai mot daeng) are mixed into salads and soups, adding a citrusy pop.

Cambodia, similarly, embraces tarantulas and crickets, especially in Skun, a town dubbed “Spiderville.” These are eaten fried or seasoned with salt and sugar. Once a necessity during the Khmer Rouge era of scarcity, insect delicacies have become a symbol of resilience and culinary identity.

Few foods trigger as strong a nostalgia in Korea as beondegi—steamed or boiled silkworm pupae. Once a common street food in the 1960s–80s, it filled the air of markets with its distinct nutty aroma. The abundance came from Korea’s silk industry; when cocoons were harvested, the pupae were a plentiful, cheap protein for families rebuilding after war. Children snacked on paper cups of beondegi as others might on roasted chestnuts.

The taste—somewhat a cross between earthy mushroom and nut butter—is divisive. While consumption has waned in younger generations, beondegi is finding new life in protein powders and novelty snacks, bridging old traditions with contemporary food tech.

In Laos, edible insects are woven into both subsistence and ritual. Crickets and grasshoppers are fried and eaten with sticky rice, while ant egg soup (gaeng khai mot daeng) is a seasonal delicacy—its tangy, citrus flavor likened to lemon. Harvesting ant eggs is often a communal event, aligning with the agrarian rhythm of rice cultivation.

In the Philippines, insect-eating traditions are rarer but not absent. Salagubang, or beetles, are fried or cooked adobo-style in Nueva Ecija, while mole crickets (locally called kamaro) are sautéed with garlic and tomatoes in Pampanga. These dishes are often tied to local identity, considered both seasonal treats and cultural markers of place.

Modern nutritional science has confirmed what tradition long suggested: insects are nutrient-dense powerhouses. Crickets, grasshoppers, and locusts pack 60 per cent to 70 per cent protein by dry weight, delivering all essential amino acids, while silkworm pupae are especially high in polyunsaturated fats and omega-3s. Termites and grasshoppers, too, provide dense energy through unsaturated fats.

On the micronutrient side, insects are rich in iron, zinc and calcium—minerals often missing from otherwise plant-heavy diets. Beyond nutrition, their environmental profile is equally striking. Crickets, for instance, need only 1.7 kilograms of feed to produce 1 kilogram of body mass (compared to cattle’s 8 kilograms), emit negligible methane, and can thrive on agricultural by-products.

For Asian farmers, this wasn’t a sustainability theory but lived practice, making insects one of the earliest low-carbon proteins in the world.

What’s remarkable is the elasticity of insect cuisine. It has moved from famine food to nostalgic snack to avant-garde delicacy. In Bangkok, insects still pile high at market stalls. In Tokyo, chefs experiment with insect-based broths. In Seoul, beondegi finds itself in retro-themed cafés. Here are some chefs bannering insect delicacies.

Thitiwat Tantragarn: Insects in the Backyard (Bangkok, Thailand)

Chef Thitiwat Tantragarn fully devoted his bistro, Insects in the Backyard, to bugs, elevating insects from snack‐stall fare to haute cuisine. NPR He trained both in Thai and American kitchens, and uses insects such as bamboo caterpillars, crickets, grasshoppers, beetles, and silkworms, often pairing them with “less intimidating” seafood, grains, and vegetables to ease diners into the bug experience. One standout dish is the silkworm tiramisu—silkworms ground into the dessert to add crunch and nutty flavour.

Sittikorn “Ou” Chantop: Akkee (Bangkok, Thailand)

At Akkee, a Michelin‐starred restaurant led by Chantop, insects are woven into the menu as part of fine dining rather than novelty. Chantop’s upbringing includes foraging for insects, which informs his technique and flavour thinking: roasted subterranean ants, bamboo worms and deep‐fried insects are served alongside sophisticated plating and seasonal produce. 

Yuta Shinohara: Antcicada (Tokyo, Japan)

Chef Yuta Shinohara of Antcicada jokingly calls himself an “earth boy.” He has been experimenting with bugs in the kitchen since childhood, but at Antcicada, he elevates them into fine dining. His most talked-about creation is cricket ramen, a bowl that reimagines every element of the dish through the lens of entomophagy. The ramen’s broth is made almost entirely from crickets—up to 100 to 160 insects per serving—giving it a deeply savoury, umami-rich base. Even the soy sauce and the fragrant oil drizzled on top are brewed with cricket essence, while the noodles themselves are blended with cricket flour in partnership with Maruyama Seimen. To finish, toasted whole crickets are sprinkled as garnish, creating both a visual statement and a satisfying crunch.

The cultural meaning of insects on the plate has changed with each era. Yet in Asia, they remain tethered to continuity—a reminder that what seems futuristic to the West has, in fact, always been, well, here.

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