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This is a question The Best / Worst thing I've ever eaten

Pinckas Ben Nochkan says: Tell us tales of student kitchen disasters and stories of dining decadence. B3ta Mods say: "Minge" does not a funny answer make

(, Thu 26 May 2011, 14:09)
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It was supposed to be 'art'.
Myself and another girl from the agency were hired on a well-paid job by some Brazillian guy. He told us it would be sexual, which we were both OK with, and that it would be an existencial piece about the circle of life.
Suffice it to say, the film was shit, the pay was shit, and all I can taste is shit.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 18:01, 2 replies)
Bestest bacon sarnie
At the risk of re-igniting a smouldering debate...

A cheese and tomato flatbread from the tesco's finest range baked/warmed in the oven for ten minutes or so, heaped with plenty of microwaved bacon*. Fold, cut in half and share with someone very special. (or scoff the lot yourself, if you're a big fat cnut)

*Yes, I said microwaved bacon. I likes my bacon goodness mostly still pink and lean and irradiated. Get a plastic griddle thing from your local pound emporium and try it.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 18:00, 1 reply)
Surprisingly tasty
is poppadums dipped in custard.

And for more weirdness, chips. Has to be hot custard though.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 17:29, 6 replies)
I’ve had some rather fantastic food in my time, but there are some meals that I think I’ll remember to the end of my days. I’ll just stick with the most memorable.
My Dad’s boxing day Beef – This is something that we have every year. As a family, only the single ones tend to be at my Dad’s on Christmas Day, all those in relationships spend the day alone, but we’re always together on Boxing Day. This is when my Dad does the dish of the year, and cooks a massive amount of Beef. This is served with duck fat roasties, broccoli, Brussels (tradition, innit?), stuffing, carrot & swede mash, and his magnificent parsnips and carrots. The parsnips are coated in honey, and roasted, making them sticky, and absolutely fantastic, and the carrots are cut into julienne style, before being brushed with wholegrain mustard, and left to cook in the juice of the meat. This is always the part of Christmas I look forward to most now (lolfatty), as it’s the part where there’s never a let down, due to shitty gifts, or anything like that.

My Mum’s Banoffee pie – I’ve only had this once in the 15 years since she died, and while it was great, it just wasn’t as good as the one she used to make (sorry Dad). The cream was magnificent and light, the biscuit base just the right level of moisture without being too sticky, and the fact that it had chunks of Mars bar in it just tops it off beautifully. One day, I may even try my hand at it. Note to self: Steal Mum’s recipe book back off Joanne.

Swordfish – I’ve only ever eaten this once, and it was at a seafront restaurant in Lanzarote. €10.50, and it is possibly the best fish I’ve ever eaten, the only ones that even come close are the seafood chowder I had in Kenmare, and the scallops I had last week. The swordfish was cooked to perfection, the taste was sublime, the sauce was perfect, there was only one problem I had with it, and that’s the fact I only got to have it once.

The Colossus - This is it. It’s a 1lb burger, made from top quality beef. It’s absolutely magnificent, but a challenge to eat. I’m aware that mixed grills are bigger, but the difficulty lies in the fact that there is no texture but MEAT in this. If you ever find yourself in Glasgow, make your way to Ashton Lane, and go to Ketchup. You won’t regret it.

As for the worst food, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything quite as unpleasant as Liver. Fucking horrible.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 17:23, 8 replies)
Spicy stuff
There was a time in the early 90s when I tried curries of various grades of heat in order to work out my favourite. From pashwari, a fruity dish made with lychees, bananas and coconut all the way up to the bowel-wobbling vindaloo. Along with everything inbetween.

It was then that I discovered the 'Cobra Bite' in an Indian takeaway in West Hull. The Cobra Bite was a curry that was hotter than the Stygian conflagration of Hades itself. The takeaway menu graded the heat of the curries by displaying a number of chillis. Korma was one chilli, Madras was five chillis and Vindaloo was six. The Cobra Bite was twelve.

The proprietor of the takeaway caused me to sample a forkful before he would take my money, which was probably a clause in the shop's liability insurance.

I did manage about 75% of the meal with the help of over a quart of water to prevent gastro-immolation. But by Christ, the next day I knew about it. I knew it was going to be bad, but not this bad. I was beginning to think someone had used my arsehole as a crucible for smelting tin. Either that or Mrs Sandettie was secretly buggering me with a soldering iron.

Never again, and nowadays even the thought of eating anything with more heat than a dansak makes my ringpiece go into spasm.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 17:22, 8 replies)
In which we kill someone's wok (pearoast)
A mate, who we shall call Matthew (etc) had invited some friends round for a social get-together including me. By the time I arrived, another member of group, Ray had been arsing about with Matthew's Soda Stream. First creating soda water and then attempting carbonated milk. I declared that fizzy milk was the most putrid drink I had ever tasted.

Don't take my word for it, if you have the opportunity, try it yourself. It truly is rank and tastes like Satan's nob-cheese itself.

Meanwhile, I had located two cans of Coke in the freezer compartment in Matthew's fridge. Another mate drank a lot of Coke in those days and would usually bring four or five cans whenever he went anywhere. On this particular occasion, he had accidentally left a couple in Matthew's fridge.

I opened a can but being frozen, nothing came out. In order to get at the beverage, I found a large kitchen knife and sawed off the bottom of the can. I then realised that the icy Coke, once thawed, would be as flat as water.

So, as is typical of me and my propensity to fuck about with stuff, I set about thawing the Coke in Matthew's wok. The plan being that once it was liquid again, it could be mixed with soda water supplied by Ray from the soda stream and hopefully I would have a lovely glass of Cola.

Ray then pointed out that I would just end up with a very watery cola flavoured drink. I then sought to solve the problem by reducing the consistency of the Coke and boiling it down to a syrup. Let it cool, add the soda water and hey presto, Coke!

The resulting drink, once cooled was awful and was far too watery still. I was steadily becoming disillusioned with the idea and had wished I'd gone to Gateways* and bought a bottle instead.

Ray added the rest of the soda water, the fizzy milk and for some reason some TCP that he'd found in the cupboard.

Ray and I then went on to systematically raid Matthew's kitchen cupboards for other ingredients, adding tabasco sauce, chilli powder, oregano, curry powder, gravy granules, sugar, salt, ground black pepper and a few other odds and ends.

As we had this pan of a broth we thought we may as well sample, so we tasted a spoonful. It was utterly terrible, bordering on malevolent in it's unplaceable flavours.

Matthew came through to the kitchen and decided enough was enough and wanted to know why I had filled his wok with foul smelling chemicals. He put a stop to the kitchen activities as the smell of the TCP had began to percolate throughout the house.

I tipped the gletid** brown muck down the sink and washed out the wok.

The evening came to an end and everyone went home.

A few days later, Matthew contacted me and informed me that his house still smelled of TCP. He also wanted to know why the bottom had fell out his wok. It seemed the boiling Coke was corrosive enough to rot it away.

Matthew said the smell of TCP occupied his house for at least two weeks.

*Gateways - A low-brand yet overpriced convenience store in the late 80s early 90s.

**Gletid (adj) - A word we made up solely to describe what we'd concocted in Matthew's wok.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 17:10, 5 replies)
Best AND worst thing I ever ate
...was my boss.

He was hired from outside the Council to a senior role in our HR department. Came with an impressive c.v. had worked as a consultant on some major civil service change programmes etc. He was mid-thirties, same as I was and fairly good looking.

I was at a low point in my life at that time. A year after our divorce, eldest kid now at 'big school', the other two still juniors and I'd just heard that my ex was going to get married to some early twenties bimbo.

I'd wanted to go for the job that this new guy got, but had failed to even get an interview, which I thought was bang out of order.

Anyway, I bit back my bile and tried to get on with this new guy. I won't name him as I don't want to get into trouble (again), but let's call him Tozzer. As in most places, the HR department was largely made up of women and Tozzer wasted no time in trying to charm us.

He brought in cakes on his first Friday, and then made it a regular thing - nothing special, bags of doughnuts from Tesco etc. but you'd be surprised how far a jammy doughnut goes with a roomful of women.

Anyway, after a month or so, he suggested we all go on an awayday - it was November and he said we could do planning for the next year, have a bit of a laugh, get to know each other better. We had plenty of notice so that we could arrange childcare etc.

We ended up going to the 'Quality Hotel', St Albans - far away enough to make it worthwhile staying over. Long story short, we all got a bit pissed over dinner - it's not often we got fed on the council - and then he set up a tab at the bar afterwards. Being a single mum, I had no head whatsoever for drink, and after a bottle of red or so plus a couple of rum and cokes after, I was more than a little tipsy.

I can't remember the exact sequence of events, but he ended up helping me back to my room and came in 'to make sure I'd be alright'. I'm not proud of what happened next, especially as I knew he was married with a couple of little kids, but somehow we were snogging against the back of the door and his hands were all over me. It had been probably more than two years since I'd had any sex at all, and a few years more since the last time I'd had raunchy sex.

With my clothes rucked up all over the place I sank to my knees and gave him what I know for a fact to be a nine and a half out of ten blow-job. Unfortunately, my head was spinning badly by the point of no return, but as I tried to pull back he grabbed my head and thrust even deeper down my throat. As he came, I puked up over him and he ended up with a mix of spunk and puke all over his suit trousers and boxers which were still round his ankles.

He pushed me away from him and my head cracked against the door of the room. A bit stunned I collapsed in an undignified heap as he waddled into the bathroom to clean the crap of his kecks.

I pulled myself into the room and onto the bed, wiped my mouth and hid under the covers until I heard him disappear to his own room. Then I had a cool shower and drank as much water as I could. I didn't get much sleep, what with a massive headache, massive shame and huge worry about the next day.

He knocked at my door at about six thirty and I let him in.

"Right, I want you to find yourself a new job. I'll give you a really good reference, but I can't have you around. You're a total liability."

I was gob-smacked, can't remember what I said, but probably nodded. It was only later that I thought about what had happened, whose fault it was, and what a fair result might be.

I won't bore you with the details but not only did I have ten years experience of HR, but I had a LOT of good friends in the department. Tozzer didn't last long, and he was told emphatically that if he tried to for unfair dismissal, he could expect ALL of the details of that night in St Albans to become known not only to the council, but the UK HR community, and also to the local press and anyone else who cared to ask.

I'd made it clear that I had nothing to lose and my conscience was clear. So I kept my job and my friends and from that time, I never looked back. I was strong, I was woman, I was invincible.

So, no regrets about eating him, although it made me puke at the time. I still don't know what he did with his trousers...
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 17:10, 38 replies)
Yum Yum...

(, Tue 31 May 2011, 16:56, 5 replies)
Perfick bacon sarnie:
3 x rashers of beer can.
2 x white bread slices
1 x marg
1 x mayo
1 x ketchup (Heinz only)
1 x cheddar cheese.

Make the lovely lovely nyomnyom bacons. While they're being done, slice the lovely cheeses.

When turning the beer cans, put the slices of lovely lovely white bread under the grill.

When the bread is lightly toasted on one side, out it comes, immediately buttered with marg, and 1 x mayo side, ketchup on t'other. Slices of lovely lovely cheeses onto the rashers of beer cans. Slam into sandwich, cut diagonally with fucking great big knife, grab with both hands - NYOM.

I challenge any - ANY vegetarian to follow that recipe and still maintain that meat is murder actually.

God I'm hungry.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 16:28, 28 replies)
Bunnahabhain scallops
I was at the Fèis Ìle (Islay whisky festival) at the weekend. FUCKING YES! I had wriggingly fresh scallops tossed (if you know what I'm saying, missus) in garlic butter. Standing in the smirr (drizzle) on Bunnahabhain pier, looking across to Jura, the most delicious meal imaginable. Mind, I'd had umpteen drams so they could have been fish fingers but sod it.

View from pier at Bunnahabhain Distillery
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 16:22, 4 replies)
Russian Roulette.
Many may find it sickening, but my other half concocts a fine dessert of maraschino cherry wrapped in marzipan and coated in chocolate. They are most splendid.

Should a gathering arise, it is a fine jape to prepare a number of these for serving to guests, but to place amongst them a similarly prepared marzipan wrapped, chocolate coated, over-cooked and soggily chilled Brussels Sprout.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 16:18, 4 replies)
Snowball fight
When I was 19, I managed to convince this older American lady to audition for the meat whistle orchestra, an invitation she glady took upon herself. The audition itself was fine, no complaints, but once I had delivered the Tomaspunk cruise missile, she pondered (I thought she was just surprised at the amount and velocity) and then slowly came up. Being a little inebriated, I thought nothing of giving her a congratulatory cuddle but she wanted a kiss - no alarm bells yet - that is until her lips parted and she gave me a little gift of my/her own.

Worst thing I've ever eaten.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 15:35, 10 replies)
Damn you, mother nature!
I have a weird sense of smell - the equivalent of colour blindness. That means I only smell some things weakly, and some not at all.

One thing I'm poor at smelling is "off" smells. So if I'm dubious about the milk in the fridge, I can only check it by tasting it.

And yes, I taste perfectly fine, thank you very much. Grrr...
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 15:22, 1 reply)
The worst thing I have ever eaten...
...was the lamb that my mother cooked after I'd accidentally defrosted our outdoor 'overflow' freezer by turning it off at the mains without realising and then turning it back on about three days later without telling anyone.

Not that it tasted bad at the time, but I shat the bed for 24 hours non stop after that. As did my brother. And my father. My poor mother still doesn't know that it wasn't her fault that she had to spend two days washing shit out of our clothes, our bedding and off the carpet and buying three new mattresses.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 14:37, 1 reply)
Festival best and worst eats
Pie Minister has to be the best thing I have ever eaten at a festival. They are simply delicious, especially with the minted peas and gravy!

Whenever I have been to a festival where Pie minister have been plying their trade there has always been a massive queue. I always go for a Heidi Pie (goats cheese, sweet potato and spinach)but they are all good, I'm salivating now just contemplating them.........

Plus they have a mildly amusing name which is always a bonus.

The worst thing I have ever eaten at a festival would have to be the Jerk Chicken I got at the Big Chill last year, I love a bit of Jerk Chicken, and had saved the Jerky goodness for the last meal at the festival (there was no Pie Minister last year booo!). It started well the taste was there, plenty of heat and Carribean goodness until I had got to the ribs and found myself eating a mysterioussly shaped bit of gristle which (due to its anatonical placement) I can only assmue was a lung. I'm not usually squeamish but it put me right off - not the worst thing I have ever eaten though, that was a ladybird that landed on my ice cream when I was 6. It was fucking disgusting.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 14:01, 8 replies)
Surprise dinner
Back at university I shared a house with a strange sort of fellow. Who didn't? it's the basis of most stories on here.

One of his quirks was to go out and buy stacks of cans of food; tinned chili, cottage pie, fruit, soup etc etc etc and then take the labels off. Whenever he was hungry he'd just open an can as then 'every meal is a surprise'.

Naturally we went out and bought a few cans of cat food, removed the labels, and added them to his stash but cat-food dining hilarity didn't ensue as he just threw the cans away when he opened them. He didn't even get entertainingly angry at our jape, which made the whole exercise seem a Whiskas-wasting waste of time.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 14:00, 1 reply)
Cabbage Soup Diet
A friend I worked with once started up the cabbage soup diet. Basically it's all you eat for weeks on end, so you waste away from lack of nutrition.

Unfortunately I shared a car drive in with him as well, and the smells leaking from his thermos (and probably his pores) was pretty rank.

It must have been worse for him though. He admitted that one night, a fair few weeks into the diet, he woke up feeling really hungry, but even more desperate for something with taste. Not wishing to break the diet, he ended up taking a swig of vinegar out of a pickle jar.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 13:49, Reply)
A great trick to get lots of lasagne
My sister makes a FANTASTIC lasagne. I mean - seriously - her lasagne would have Joey Tribiani and Garfield 69ing for even a glimpse at it.

I discovered that this fact can be used to one's advantage: mention this to a girl you've recently started going out with, preferably after a particularly mutually satisfactory bout of physical love.

The response will invariably be to the effect of "Ah, but you haven't tried MY lasagne."

Played right, ie, to afterwards compliment her skills, but to mention that, well ... its still not quite there, one can get through several lasagnes before they catch on, by which time it's pretty well time to move the relationship onto the final level anyway and dump them.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 13:28, 15 replies)
Lord Potato reminded me
When I worked in a supermarket, we played a game called "eat the can" (like the inventiveness?) which consisted of seeing who would eat the unlabelled can. The rules were easy, it couldn't be intentional, the label couldn't be removed on purpose, and the entire can had to be consumed. We would bet money on what the food was. I had some excellent dog food once.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 13:16, 4 replies)
Strawberries and Cream
According to my parents, when I was about 5/6 years old I had eaten a stupid ammount of strawberries and cream. This, as you can guess, made me feel sick so I ran upstairs to the toilet... and puked on the floor (Dad said it was bright pink).
Now, my mum doesn't "do" sick so she went to get me changed whilst my dad got a bucket and cloth. When he got back upstairs, he could hear a noise coming from the bathroom, a lapping sound. When he looked into the bathroom our cat Pippin was licking up my sick! Dad did well not to add to it.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 13:06, 2 replies)
On my stag weekend I was handed a glass of something that looked angry called Firebomb.

Its basically whisky mixed with hot chillies.

It tastes worse than it sounds.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 12:45, 3 replies)
Drink and not me, but I was there...
On a road trip in Brazil, we stopped to take in the sights of an area famous for spectacular waterfalls. We all piled out of the cars, into 45+ degree heat. I watched my mother-in-law grab a water bottle from the car and take a large swig.

Unfortunately, that was her son's emergency supply of alcohol for the car; she'd just necked a huge slug of raw cane alcohol. Apparently it's not the most pleasant of experiences, judging by the gasping, retching and writhing in burning pain...

Label your bottles, folks!
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 12:41, Reply)
Never go back!
My first proper holiday abroad on my own was to the sunny isle of Kos in Greece, self catering of course. I was 18 and reasoned that £250 was ample cash to cover food, drink and anything else. *smacks palm on forehead in hindsight*.

Of course, after a couple of nights of heavy drinking, funds were severely depleted, so I decided that meals were best consumed at the end of the evening when I could cheaply pick up a burger or kebab from one of the many stalls and late night shops that seemed to appear after midnight.

After one very heavy session, I finished the evening with what I described at the time as 'the best cheeseburger I've ever had'. It was from a small fast-food restaurant at the harbour and I felt as though I'd made a real discovery.

The next day we decided to take a break from the drink, so come the evening I decided to seek out said 'best cheeseburger' only this time stone cold sober.

I can still vividly recall the horror at peeling back the bun to see what actually lurked inside. If it was meat, then it was from a creature not of this world, complimented with some kind of green cheese, black onions and a pinky/orange sauce. They'd also put chips inside the burger, I mean what kind of buffoon puts chips inside the bun (probably the same kind that doesn't notice first time around).

Massively hungover, obviously I ate the lot.

Lesson learned? Of course! If you're going to eat shite, just make sure you're pissed first. Still taking my own advice to this very day.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 12:17, 1 reply)
Parsnip "chips" served to us on Friday, which was always fish n' chips day, and no mention made of it whatsoever.
Come now - Shirley such behaviour should be filed under Cruel & Unusual.

100 kids all with their plates piled high, not touching them after the first gobful.

It's wrong. Wrong, and, probably, unconstitutional.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 10:41, 1 reply)
Tastes like chicken
I can't clean the toilet, and I never have. I only have to think about doing it, about getting my face close to that horrible bowl, and I vom a little. Previous girlfriends have remarked upon this as a sign of my typical male attitude towards cleaning, but sadly, the truth is far more hideous.

~ Wavy lines back to 1987 ~

When I was 7 years old my Dad decided to uncover the sewage system that he'd installed himself in the garden when building our bungalow. The specific reason why escapes me, but there was some kind of blockage somewhere. Anyway, for a week or so part of the garden had an open channel full of shit and piss leading to the now uncovered septic tank, obviously also full of shit and piss.

My mates would occasionally come to mine for an A-Team episode re-enactment, and it was during one of these, as your hero Faceman outran the bad guys and performed an impressive army-roll, that I plunged head first into the septic tank.

Your first instinct when you fall into water, or as in this instance, shitty pissy turd jam, is to breathe in. Deeply. Which I did. I must have swallowed about 3 turds and was almost drowning in my own family's effluent when I was fished out by my Dad.

So the reason I can't clean the toilet is that I am vividly aware of what poo tastes like. I can assure you that it's not pleasant.
It doesn't really taste like chicken. It's slightly alkaline and has chunks in.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 10:28, 16 replies)
If anybody would like to brag about having been "abroad" and tasted "forrin" food could they please sign below.
It will save a lot of space.

We don't live in the 1950s.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 9:40, 15 replies)

Bee spew. Yum.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 9:34, 2 replies)
Cheesy Beanos - now with pic :-)
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 9:29, Reply)
Halls of residence, a week before the end of the Christmas term.
I've got £5 left, and no food.

Matey comes in, "We're going to get an eighth. Fancy chipping in?"

So - omgdrugs or food?

So we're sitting, stoned, in front of the telly, my stomach is rumbling, and we're watching food porn. Cue close-ups of chocolate pudding oozing chocolate sauce, of turkey with all the trimmings being covered in gravy, of roast potatoes where the sound of the crunch has been amplified to really get across how soft and fluffy they are inside.

One cannot eat rolling tobacco.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 9:24, 4 replies)
Ex-pats miss the funniest things
I miss Chargrilled Steak McCoy's, or generally any meat-flavoured crisps. They just don't have them out here in the US. Every time I come back and visit I'm ravenous for it. Next time I fly out of the UK, I'm taking a suitcase of crisps home.

Worst thing? Continental candy from my stepdad called Lakrisal. Salted licorice with bonus chili pepper! To my mouth, it felt like what I'd imagine spicy bleach would taste like.

Second place, because it actually was a kitchen disaster, was when my sister used some edam to make a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Without taking the wax off of the cheese.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 8:44, 3 replies)

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