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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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home cooking??
The worst, anything cooked by my mother "nuff said".

The best, well I am still working on that list, but probably to date freshly caught lobster lightly cooked in butter.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 13:57, 4 replies)
Das Hindenburger - Pics in replys!
A few months ago, as a Friday night treat, I created these gargantuan meaty monsters more by luck than judgement it has to be said.

I was working on the burger filled with melty cheese model, which as I am sure you will agree is, when done correctly, a veritable symphony of flavour that dances around your mouth singing sweet delicious harmonies of beefy cheesy goodness. I had sampled such delicacies on several occasions at a pub in Liverpool called the Ship and Mitre – if you are ever in the area I highly recommend giving it a go, plus they do loads of real ales if you are that way inclined!

I have dabbled in the meat filled with cheese arena before, cheese filed meatballs and the like but I now felt that I was ready to progress to the next level. On my way home form work I purchased a 1lb (500g) package of lean steak mince, some onion bagels, salad bits, an avocado and the piece de résistance some French goats cheese. I was ready to begin.

The original plan was not to use all of the mince in the package and create two decent sized but not lethal burgers that would set us up for the usual Friday night drinking session, however after I had cut the cheesy centres from the log it appeared that I had over estimated the ratio of meaty burger to cheesy middle and before long I had created two MASSIVE cheese filed cannonballs (pictures to follow this evening!) which I char grilled on the griddle pan (THE best kitchen utensil I have ever purchased, with the possible exception of the mortar and pestle), and served on the bagels along with guacamole, salad, jalapenos and the usual condiment army (yellow mustard, mayo, ketchup and Encona West Indian Chili Sauce, which I have on pretty much everything). Getting a hold of the thing to eat it was enough of a challenge, it must have measured 25 cm in height and the same again across the middle

This is where it is necessary to see the beast which is why I will be posting piccies later today. Needless to say after consuming the meaty mountain all hopes of being able to stay awake let alone consume alcohol* were soon abandoned in favour of lying prostrate on the couch waiting for the heart attack to start!

*Actually after a couple of hours movement was possible and the walk to the local was an enjoyable method of moving the meaty bagelicious cement moving in the right direction.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 13:53, 5 replies)
Grey Pulp
Best: By far my mum's Spaghetti Bolognese. No fancy ingredients but always made a day in advance and very slow cooked. Have met obscure relatives at parties and they have mentioned it.

Worst: Woke up after crashing at an all night house party in Leicester I think it was. Was starving hungry and quickly decided to hit the road in search of a caff, as most of the comatose figures strewn about the house didn't look like surfacing for some time. Thought I'd track down the host of the party who was ensconced under her duvet nursing a serious hangover. As I said my goodbyes and thanks I spied on the windowsill a leftover takeaway, complete with brown paper bag that had gone transparant due to the leakage from what I could only assume to be chicken balls or the like.

Well I've eaten worst things for breakfast so I asked If I could help myself to her leftover take away 'Sure' came the reply from under the duvet. I opened the bag and saw it was indeed full of those little crispy balls of goodness from the local 'Chinky', stomach rumbling I grabbed one and bit it in half...

...I don't remember the taste to be fair, but I can recall the unerring instant sensation that I had done something very, very wrong. Before I began to chew I remember looking at the remaining half in my hand, the internal contents were dull grey and in a state between liquid and solid, and contained unidentified black shapes which I swear began to move.

I instantly spat the mouthfull out onto the floor and threw the remains across the floor. I felt dirty and unclean with that pre-gag shiver that starts in the small of your back and vibrates up your spine to your skull. 'What the fuck was that!'

As it turns out, it wasn't her room. It was her flat mates. Who was backpacking halfway round the world.

What that take away had once been or how long it had been sitting on a sunny windowsill for I shall never know.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 13:17, Reply)
I went down on that bird out of Springwatch on t'BBC.
it was like eating Humble Pie.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 12:50, 2 replies)
I can only say this,
Cream cheese pate and Wotzit sandwich.

I may have been drinking a bit before that one.

Good though.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 12:18, 2 replies)
A lasagne I made
I had my Mum and Dad down to stay and had my brother and sister-in-law over for dinner and I made a proper lasagne. I say "proper" because it was a premium dish - none of this low-fat malarky; lots of cheese, butter and proper meat in the sauce.

I made the whole lot from scratch, even the pasta. The ragu (meat sauce) cooked for about 2 hours and was supremely rich. It was definitely posh cooking because I put wine in it. The bechemel sauce had pesto in it, which I was dubious about but there was no need.

Without a doubt it was the best thing I've ever eaten. Super-epic nyomming at its most epic. 4 hours of toil fully rewarded.

For anyone wanting the recipe, it's in Gino D'acampo's Pasta book. (He's holding a bag of pasta on the front.)
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 11:06, 5 replies)
I once knew a bloke
Who shoved a sausage up his arse. It truly was his own wurst enema.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 10:34, 7 replies)
True story
I once ate some food in a wetherspoons pub.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 10:15, 17 replies)
2 into 1.
I live in Sweden - and it pains me to tell you this, but I have eaten "SurStrömming".
Sprouts are like Cadbury's chocolate... and Smoked Eel (eaten here at x-mas) is a tasty treat in comparison.

Here's how the culinary comedians make it.
Catch Herring.
Kill Herring
Put Herring in Salt water... and LEAVE IT OUT IN THE SUN. (wankers)
Check to see if the fish stinks yet...
Leave it out in the sun some more.
Tin the herring in special corrugated tins that can expand. (this shit FERMENTS)

There are some airlines who won't allow you to fly with this stuff. NOT because the exploding tin is dangerous, but because the smell is impossible to get rid of, and until the plane is stripped and re-furnished, all passengers will be vomiting and gagging.

So... A happy summers day and a Swede says "Hey... have you tried Shuurshtrööömming yet?"
My first mistake was to say "no"
Leif happily produces a Tin that looks like a metal Football, and grinning like a wanking Eskimo he places it on a fencing post and hands me a rifle... "open it" says he...

My second shot grazed the tin, and it span off into the long grass hissing like an angry moggie with a stick of ginger up it's arse.

The smell of the fetid fish-oil on the approach to the tin made me gag... this is quite literately rotten fish, and you can buy it in the supermarkets. some of the tins aren't even even painted - probably because it just peels off again..

Admittedly when eating it you back it up with shed-loads of vodka and the like, but I honestly have never tasted anything so vile in my entire life. Even managing to get it into your mouth is a hurdle - based on the smell, your body tries to reject it. A reasonable reflex in my opinion.
The purest Absolout failed to strip my pallet of the taste, and god knows, I tried again and again.

Sprouts, (though it is satan's addition to x-mas), are a meal for kings when compared.

I developed the opinion that anything that has to be opened at a distance with a firearm should not actually be classed as food.

~~~~~~~~~~ Wavy lines ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now.. Midsummer in Sweden is one HELL of a party. I've been here for a good few years, and I can't remember a single Midsummer where people haven't got royally rat-arsed, or fallen over while dancing round the giant phallic symbol that we erect for the party: Rinsing your recently abused pallette of rotten fish with large quantities of Vodka and Akvavit can get you more drunk than you'd care to imagine.. but as for the frog-dance there is no excuse.

Anyway... there's lots of rampant alcohol fuelled shagging that goes on. This night I was going to become another statistic.

6am, and the missus and I have swayed home in the lazy and meandering way that the drunks have perfected over an eternity of liver-abuse... We were determined to nail each other to the bed when we get home. Now.. to be fair to her she was awesome in bed, it's just that this night was about to go wrong. Terribly terribly wrong.

We'd both been drinking for nearly 12 hours straight. We were both obscenely drunk... I could hardly keep my body erect, let alone Mr Winky. Missus Humpty decided that - as sitting on my face was always a dead-cert for trouser-snake charming - she'd hoik her grass-stained dress up, and ride my face.. This she did. Rather hard. I'm not only used to this, but a great fan to boot. My tongue worked away at her feverishly, her cute puckered barking-spider a bare few milimeters from my nose. I was in heaven, and - riding my face like a drunken pro - so was she.

She was sat in the perfect position to tug away at any signs of life, and as she and I both neared the point of no return I - mouth full of mimsy - was forced to heave air through my nose at a colossal rate, much like a jet-fighter at full throttle just before take-off....

We both came.... and - as fate would have it - the orgasm ripping through her body caused her to grind down harder on my face.. and fart: forcefully injecting un-diluted rectal gasses into my air-hungry nose.

A FULLL force, and totally ripe, hot Surströmming fart (far worse than the initial burst of smell from the tin), CLEAN up my nostrils. The reaction was instant.. and completely unaware of her crime and mistaking my convulsions as throws of exstacy, Mrs Humpty ground down harder on my face as I gasped for air.. The enormity of my horror peaked as, in the full grip of natural bolidy rejection, I hoyed my alocohol-rich stomach content, including a large amount of undigested, rotten fish, straight up her pink mitten.

As the fetid herring now deeply stuck in my nostrils caused me to start a gagging fit that threatened to be my last, She ran screaming to the bathroom leaving a trail of stomach acid, alcohol and rotten chunks of fish behind her on the floor as it gushed from her burning mimsy.

Never combine stomach acid, rotten fish, and oral sex. It *really* isn't fun.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 10:05, 15 replies)
Flange Juice
Retch / Rich. They all taste different.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 9:36, 3 replies)
wen i was 14 i got totally wasted on cider n havent bin able 2 touch it since lol
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 9:16, 6 replies)
The names and details have been changed to protect the innocent
This Sunday I have been invited to the Yurt of my good friends Cassandra and Trilliban. For many previous Sunday's I have found excuses not to go because as much as I love Miranda and Sebastian, they have two major flaws. They are Vegetarians and, more importantly, neither of them can cook. Teh last time I ate at Phillianda and Maurasatian's Tee-Pee I was served a pile of Quorn pieces, some bullet hard peas and a boiled baking potato. There wasn't even any gravy to soak up the pain.

I am out of ideas as to how to say no to visiting Alisonadia and Victorimus' Igloo now, I have run out of dead grandparents, had all the major communicable illnesses and my brother is not about to be come a new father any moment now. So my question is this...

Do I tell her the food sucks, or him?
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 9:08, 8 replies)
The best - Indian Restaurant Curry Pizza
I don't really like rice, there I said it. So when at a curry house, i normally order a small portion of chips to go with my madras or similarly spiced dish (none of that fanny korma nonsense). This gets the usual piss-taking from my mates (who almost always then ask for some of my chips when they arrive, and proclaim how well they go with curry).

Anyway, i've taken to making my own hybrids when eating out, so while everyone else sits with their korma and plain rice, i have a whole galric and chilli nann (the round type naan that fills a whole plate), with a portion of salted chips on top, with my whole hot dish poured on top of that.

Instant Curry pizza (im amazed this flavour pizza doesn't exist off the peg by the way). Cue, mocking by everyone else sat at the table, lolts of LOL WY U NO GOT RICE LOL?! People usually ask to try some, most love it.

What happens the next time you go out with the same bunch of people? 8 out of 10 will be eating a curry pizza.

Amazing stuff.

I win!
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 8:54, Reply)
Alright, then.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 8:50, 32 replies)
You are what you eat
Food is many things- sometimes it just keeps us going, sometimes its wonderful, sometimes its about the memories, and it doesn't matter what you eat.

One Christmas, our hall of residence decided to put on a Christmas party. Oh, what a day. We all had to put in our £5 if we wanted to take part, and on the day in question, the whole hall was abuzz with preparation of food, happy students, and slowly cooling alcohol.

We'd hired out the student union, and set up a big table, and I hadn't seen such a big spread in all my life, outside of a family dinner at any rate. There was so much gravy, we had to nick pint glasses from behind the bar to make sure nothing went to waste.

It doesn't matter what we ate that day, or how much, or how it tasted. What I will remember is one of the best days of uni I've ever seen, when we all just sat down and ate together. It wasn't complicated, it was just friends, all sitting down to have a meal. And it was brilliant.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 8:42, 6 replies)
I have a friend who came to the US about 10 years ago from Australia; he is Australian. He speaks with an Australian accent and does Australiany things. One of said things is eat vegemite. He and an Irish expat were discussing how they missed the tastes from home and the discussion turned to vegemite and the other -ite that British types use.

Now, being the open minded, pseudo world traveler I am, I asked to try some. It was agreed that he would bring some in the next day, i'd bring crackers and the Irish lady would be drunk would bring something to drink.

The next day, all and sundry were on hand to witness my deflowering, but I, having yet tasted of the fruit, did not yet know good and evil. It was about to change. Aussie grabbed a cracker, put a generous slathering of vegemite on it and handed it to me with far more glee than one should have who clams to eat the stuff regularly.

I popped the whole thing in my mouth. It tasted like someone had taken their gym socks, unwashed for six months, down to the scummiest brine pool harborside, allowed it to marinate, then dry in the sun, then wore the socks for six months without washing, dipped in a mixture of salt water and seaweed, then put it on my cracker. Vile to the Nth magnitude!

I actually gagged, making the "ooh ooh aack" sound one does and causing much laughter from the peanut gallery. I spent several minutes in the lav and the rest of the day unable to stomach anything other than cola.

The stuff is not fit for man or beast.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 8:29, 7 replies)
Not eaten, but drank...
a warm glass of my own piss as a dare once when on the booze. Gagged at the smell of my own urine for a week every time I went to the toilet.
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 7:47, 1 reply)
Plymouth Gin and Ambrosia Custard (from a carton) 50/50 ratio.
It was either that or warm Pinot Grigio.
Mike Thornton, you were and always will be a genius.
I miss you and your bluff-calling ways!
(, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 0:55, 7 replies)

(, Tue 31 May 2011, 22:16, 3 replies)
What a morning that was.
I am the proud owner of a lovely black labrador, called Oscar, who turned 11 last month. It was not an uncommon thing for me to be woken up for work by Oscar, who responds much more enthusiastically to my alarm than I do, and who would triumphantly demonstrate his endless vigour by licking my face should I not awaken from the land of what is most commonly referred to as 'nod'.

In December last year I was suffering from the heaviest bastard cold that I had experienced in some time, and was generally a fucking nightmare to be around. I am sure many of you have experienced a cold before and the most irritating symptom at night time is, without doubt, the inability to breathe through your nose - this incurrs a far greater risk of snoring, and a 100% chance of a totally dry (or even slightly crusted over) mouth. Once upon an ill-fated morning the time came for my alarm to attempt to revive me from the surety of such sweet slumber and, once again, Oscar had risen before me and was bounding about with typical glee before he came to make sure that I, too, was conscious - I wasn't.

It had been a recurring theme throughout the previous weeks that my open-mouthed approach to sleep did not combine all too well with his face-licking approach to rousal - the result of which had a distinctly french feel to it. After a while, though, I began to mind this phenomenon less and less, and figured that as long as I was waking up in time for work, and as long as we had a healthy supply of toothpaste, things would work out for the best.

This morning was different, however. This morning, after a bit of tonsil-tennis with a male dog, I could taste... something. This morning, after wiping my mouth, there was a slimey, greenish-brown smear left on my hand. Yes, good people of B3ta - Oscar had been out that morning to have what turned out to be an otherworldly greeny-brown lawn snake, had used his ample tongue as toilet paper, and had passed the savings on to me. What ensued was total.fucking.carnage.

When I realised what had happened, my first and foremost thought was to somehow make it to the bathroom and to plan my next course of action once there - a simple plan. What actually ended up happening was I attempted to get up too quickly and fell on the floor, once on the floor I began to dry-heave (having just woken up, I simply had nothing in my stomach to vomit). It was at this point I discovered that dry-heaving is in fact a great way of fighting the dry-mouth that an open-mouthed sleep brings, as your mouth fills up with saliva. I also discoved just how important those little enzymes in the saliva are at breaking down food and releasing the flavour. Dear God. The taste is something unlike anything I hope to experience ever again - it is quite simply the most disgusting thing imaginable. This prompted further bouts of dry-heaving.

In between furiously trying to spit out the dog poo that had successfully mixed with the saliva to form an altogether more liquid substance, and dry-heaving my stomach muscles into oblivion, I made a mistake. When you are trying to get rid of something in your mouth, and you have run out of saliva to spit it out with, you get an intriguing urge - that urge is to swallow, to lubricate your throat and encourage more saliva to be produced. This simple act of swallowing allowed me to fully appreciate the texture of quite what was in my mouth. I remember it well - I swallowed one small lump of something, and another, more slimey, bit that had some gritty qualities.

This tipped me over the edge, and I hurled harder than I ever have or will and was sick the tiniest bit, about a hollowed-out half a lemon full (the universally recognised unit of measurement for sick). I had given up on walking anywhere by this point and thus crawled my way to the bathroom before plunging my mouth under the running tap, not daring to swallow a drop for a good 20 minutes. I didn't make it into work that day. Oscar no-longer wakes me up.

Some obligatory comment about length.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 21:25, 19 replies)
Ultimate Chocolate Fix
It was late, I was hormonal, the shops were shut. I medically needed chocolate.

I scoured my cupboards. I had, amongst other things coconut milk in a can, vanilla sugar and custard powder. This turned into the most calorific coconut custard I have ever had, and the chocolaty thing that sated the chocolate craving really quickly.

Worst thing I ate was at my pal's parent's house. I was round for lunch, and being a vegetarian, they had got something special in for me. A fake meat cutlett that they topped with some sort of chunky pasta sauce. VERY salty for some reason. I ate it, I went home. I drank a LOT of water.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 21:25, 6 replies)
Cofee with Dad
After finally getting a real job I moved out of my folk’s house. All proud of my apartment and new found independence, I invited my father over to check it out. He came over and was polite about what he saw, although looking back I know it was a rare shithole.
We got to talking and i suggested coffee. Picking up the new coffee system and cheap ass coffee beans i had bought, I realized I had no clue. but WTF give it a shot.
The old feller talk the cup, added his milk and 1.5 teaspoons of sugar, took a sip and kicked back. He started talking to me about his life and how coffee was involved in it. Now he was an interesting feller and he talked of the coffee he had in the orphanage where he grew up and how it was a privilege once you were 13 and allowed to drink it. And how it took some getting used to but the kick was awesome.
He spoke of the coffee pot in the gym where he trained as a boxer, and how it was a social focus point. He talked about making coffee in his helmet with his buddies during the war and how many guys he had coffee with who didn't come home.
He spoke of the coffee pot in the firehouse where he worked for 30 years in Little Italy. How it was always on and it was a last in first out system, and the stuff on the bottom could strip paint.
As he spoke I was totally blown away about his openness and I felt privileged to hear his story of becoming a man, I swear I was all teary eyed.
I knew when his noble soliloquy was reaching its end. I was totally focused on his words, waiting for the grand secret of life he was coming to, the information he learned trough 50 years of life that he was going to impart to me, father to son. I was sitting at the end of my chair, waiting for his words, filled with love for the old feller as he said " But you know Kevin, through all those years I can safely say, this is the worst fucking cup of coffee I ever had.”
I almost pissed myself laughing, as I ran down to the corner deli to get a couple of cups more palatable.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 21:02, 3 replies)
Mmh, Kebab Pizza
First time poster, be gentle, unlike the chili sauce mentioned below.

Back when I was just a scamp, on the way home from an evening of imbibing. I happened upon a, now sadly closed, Pizza/Kebab emporium. Therein I espied the greatest dining experience of my life. The fabled Kebab Pizza. A 14" thick crust pizza with several choice cuts from the rotisserie elephant leg baked into the cheese. All finished with piles of salad and bright red chili sauce.

Half way home, and thoroughly enjoying my newly discovered mana when I chanced upon a couple of friends working outside a late night establishment. Standing in the well lit environs of this establishment gave me my first chance to really inspect my delicious supper.

That was my biggest mistake. Looking as though an armadillo and a muskrat had been in the throws of passionate coitus when they were assaulted by an overladen Australian road train. My appetite fled faster than a well drilled French battalion.

Feeling generous, I closed the lid on my less than palatable feast, and decided to hand it to one of a number of pavement residents who were located nearby. The grandly bearded gent accepted my gift with gentle accord only to cry "What the fcuk is this shite" upon opening the box and hurled it, with trampy abandon, all over the near by vicinity.

I made my exit.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 20:58, 5 replies)
Vegetarian haggis.
Bought two as they were reduced. Soon found out why - they were made of spicy boiled-up birdseed.

Took them to the woods on my dogwalk to scatter on the wildlife feeding stations, and got mobbed by blackbirds and robins.

Very heavy food though. Not sure if the birds were able to fly afterwards.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 20:37, 6 replies)
Best bought breakfast.
Cafe North in Manchester, a "Poached Egg Royal".
It's not cheap but it is the best breakfast I recall having. The smoothies are great too.
Oh, but it's the wrong side of the Pennines and in a not-so-great part of Manchester.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 19:29, 4 replies)
Just now....
Domestic Management has gone away for half term, so I am in charge of the Galley. Before she went, she gave away my frozen tarka dal that I was saving. So, I decided to make some more yesterday.

I boiled up my lentils, added garlic, onion, garam masala and a bit more turmeric, plus my special ingredient: some small dried chillis that I brought back from Egypt. Lush.

I nuked a pack of piri-piri rice, smothered it in dal, and scooped it up with toasted flour tortillas.

It was well fit, and I'm a carnivore!
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 19:18, 6 replies)
Haggis and bacon roll
Had one at the weekend, and it was marvellous. Now to find somewhere in London that does haggis all year round!
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 19:08, 7 replies)
It's the simple things
An old friend used to make what I still maintain are the best fried egg sandwiches EVER. The secret was apparently lightly toasting the bread (had to be bog standard cheap white sliced), spreading one slice with mayo and the other with tomato ketchup, and then wacking in the egg. Possibly accompanied by some spinach or rocket, if any was languishing in the underused salad drawer of the fridge. His scrambled eggs with herbs were also pretty good.

Also introduced me to a tiny Italian restaurant which didn't look much from the outside, but did the most amazing thing that I believe was just mozarella, aubergine and tomato layered up with basil and garlic, but tasted so much more.

However, another speciality of the same guy was supernoodles (or a Tesco equivalent) left in a pan of lukewarm water until they became soft enough to eat. Going to the staircase kitchen to heat them would have involved effort.

It's all about the contrast I guess.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 18:24, 3 replies)
Mystery yellow sauce.
My local injuns provides a pot with most starter courses. It tastes minty and just slightly spiced and it's proper lush!

I don't know what's in it and I don't want to spoil it by finding out.
(, Tue 31 May 2011, 18:06, 6 replies)

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