eggs that have been incubated until the fetus is all feathery and beaky, and then boiled alive. The bones give the eggs a uniquely crunchy texture.
They are enjoyed in Cambodia, Philippines and the fifth and seventh levels of hell. They are typically sold by street vendors at night, out of buckets of warm sand. You can spot the vendors because of their glowing red eyes, and the faint, other worldly sound of children screaming.
Because you're never going to look at an egg the same way. Tell yourself that every time you crack open an egg from now on you won't be half expecting a leathery wad of bird to come flopping out into the skillet.
Yes, balut is upsetting on about a half-dozen levels. Sure, all meat eaters know on some level that the delicious chop on your plate used to belong to something cute and fluffy, which gambolled in the sun during the brief spring of its life. Most of the time, it' perfectly possible not to give a shit. But, when you're biting into something that hasn't even had a chance to see its mother' face ... well, it' different.