I lived in Japan for three years and never ate raw horse meat, although I heard that it was a delicacy in the region where I lived. It was called basashi, I heard, and kept wondering if there would be a time when I would have to swallow my revulsion and taste it. But it never happened.
There were new and strange foods, though, and I learned that it was part of being a missionary to learn to eat things I had never tasted before, to accept hospitality as well as to provide it.