A Korean told me this
Her friend (also a Korean) was travelling in Vietnam and was invited to sup at someone's house. He knew he'd be served whatever local delicacy his Vietnamese hosts thought suitable for their honoured guests, but being Korean (and thus used to eating things that most Westerners would consider gross) he wasn't too worried.

So he sat down to dinner and he was presented with the most special part of the animal they were eating. Dog Paw Surprise.

He said it was the worst thing he'd ever eaten.
(Pachey, Thu 4 May 2006, 11:11, Reply)

I once ordered a burger
and was disgusted to find that the pattie was just a cooked dead animal carcass!

sorry folks, but complaining that your meat-based dish was in some way gross is, to quote Vice magazine, "like saying, 'I don't like it when people take shits on my chest because of that weird crackling sound it makes when it comes out their butts.'"
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 4 May 2006, 11:02, Reply)

Spain
me and my parents once went to some stinking shit hole of an apparent restruant in Spain.... we had ordered the food for take out wich took about an hour and half to arrive (not one word of a lie) they kept people sitting in their restruant to amke their business seem popular... lavishing us with lollies and everything. Anyway he came did the waiter eventually and basically threw a white bag on the table filled with our "food".... We took the food back to the appartment and were horrified to discover its content, green mouldy bread, gravy with white bits in etc... We'd waited for this emal for an hour and half as id said, so as Brits we'd be fucked if we were gunna let that stop us... with grit determination we chewed the meal and lapped up the mould.... Moral of the story is swallow your pride not Spanish shit.... ended up sharing the bog to puke in at the same time while the mother was winging at us... happy times
(lightie, Thu 4 May 2006, 10:24, Reply)

Worst meal of my life

My dad’s Italian, and he comes from a very poor family. He was the first one to go to university, etc. His mum was your stereotypical, hard as nails, Italian wood-gathering widow.

Anyhow, we used to go to Italy every year when I was a kid. This stopped when I turned 18, (as I would have to do nation service). The story I’d like to share is when I was about 8 years old.

Giovanni, my grandmother’s cousin asked me one day if I’d like to come out with him to the rice fields to catch some frogs. Did I ever! A hot, sunny afternoon collecting little amphibians, then releasing them, perhaps a swim in the nearby lake, and if really lucky, a ‘gelato’ on the way home. Life don’t get much sweeter, thought I.

So, we go to this rice field, me on the back of a little Vespa, the wind in my hair, everything smiley. When we get there, I run around like Gerald Durrell, catching my little green friends, showing Giovanni how cute they are, then placing them gently back in their little homes.

“No, no, no,” he says. “When you catch them, give them to me. I put them in this bag.”

BRILLIANT! We’re going to keep them as pets! I can love them, and hug them, and call them George!

So, I carry on. Pick up a frog. Run to Giovanni. Give him the frog. Run away. Catch another frog. And so on.

Now, as the hours pass, I get more and more tired. I’m not quite as lively on my feet. With a frog in my hands, I walk up to Giovanni, hand him my little buddy, and turn away.

“SNAP! SNAP!”

What was that? Turning around I manage to catch Giovanni breaking this little frog’s legs. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!” I scream. “I do this to stop them hopping away,” he replies, completely nonplussed.

Well that’s it, I’m hysterical. Unable to calm me down, Giovanni chucks me on the back of his bike and we go home; me crying uncontrollably all the way. When we get back, I run into the bedroom and cry non-stop for an hour. Eventually I stop blubbering, and walk out into the garden to see………… my grandmother cutting the heads off these frogs and peeling off their skin.

So. Back in the bedroom, feeling the worst I’ve ever felt in my life. Tears coursing down my cheeks in a flood. I remain in there until my dad comes in and tells me it’s dinner time. “B-b-b-b-but I don’t want any d-d-dinner! My little f-f-f-friend f-f-f-f-frogs were… WAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

“You are coming out of your room, and you are going to eat your dinner,” my dad informs me. Just for a moment, imagine your dad was a bit like Tony Soprano, and you were 8 years old…….

I went out of my room to eat my dinner

And what was I served up? You guessed it. Frog omelette. And I had to eat the whole fucking thing.

So that was my worst meal: best friends washed down with mouthfuls of 8-year-old tear claret. I learned a valuable lesson that day, but I’ll be fucked if I know what it was.

Maybe, one day, I’ll hear the silence of the frogs….
(geegee, Thu 4 May 2006, 10:11, Reply)

Viridian
Have you posted that story here before? It's definitely been told elsewhere....

My dad once made me eat burgers in hot cross buns. Not out, but rank all the same.
(chili_kitten Cheese, peas and honey bees, Thu 4 May 2006, 10:05, Reply)

I'm suddenly taken by an urge to go travelling to distant lands, tasting the local delicacies, and keeping a "d+v-diary".
Apart from my stomach is really quite hard, it can take anything except strawberries.

It doesn't like strawberries.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 4 May 2006, 9:59, Reply)

Was in the Phillipines for a couple of weeks a few years ago
Not one good meal the whole time I was there. I was really looking forward to the cuisine of a country sitting between Thailand and China must have absorbed some culinary influence. Not a bit of it. Either Americanised or bland were on offer. Oh and dog. India on the other hand, specifcially Kerala fantastic, best in the world. But for the fact that every tourist joint wants to dish out what you'd find on a menu down yer local tandori. The thalis that you can get away from these places are AMAZING. In one of the tourist joints in Varkala I witnessed rats running around ON the tables.
(chuntymudflap, Thu 4 May 2006, 9:45, Reply)

TDub
Carpaccio is absolutely delicious. It's not raw really - it's 'cooked' in lemon or lime.

You should try it.
(geegee, Thu 4 May 2006, 9:27, Reply)

This QOTW has dredged up a childhood trauma, thanks guys.....
On the way home from a week-long school trip, our coachload of 10 year olds stopped off for a pre-arranged cafe lunch.

All went well until the desserts arrived.

They had run out of ice cream, so two people had to have mousse.

Well, this was 35 years ago when ice cream was thin on the ground and mousse sounded impossibly exotic, so I bravely volunteered.

I was sorry when everyone else got a knickerbocker glory - assorted ice cream, cherry, whipped cream - and I got a small unadorned oblong of bland pink cold stuff.

It has only just, this very minute, occurred to me that if the teachers had the same meal, one of them could've swapped with me.

Fat greedy bastards.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 4 May 2006, 8:42, Reply)

My own fault
My daughter and I visited my brother stationed in Giessen Germany. We toured some big ass castle-it was quite nice really and decided to have lunch at the castle restaurant. Now I pride myself on not being an Ugly American (usually) so I had taken a couple of German Berlitz language courses. The 20 year old waiter was so cute, I was desperate to impress him and so asked for the German menu. "I'll show him how wonderfully cosmopolitan I am as I order in German! Then he'll want to smooch my raddled middle aged cheek..." As if.

I found something that sounded yummy-some kind of salad with slices of black angus beef, Parmesean cheese and capers. There was only one word I didn't know, but I figured that was ok; besides it was in Italian. All Italian food is good so how could I go wrong?

That word was Carapaccio. My salad arrived, I took one look and wailed, "It's raaaaaaaaaaaw!" God bless him, the waiter offered to comp me with something else but I swallowed my pride and ate the veggies and cheese. That part was very good, but I just couldn't do raw meat and so waved bye bye to 12 euros. Fucksocks. That'll teach me.

To top it off, everyone else's food looked and smelled heavenly.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Thu 4 May 2006, 5:29, Reply)

Game as you can get
We had a Game Trio on the menu a few years back in the pub - three game birds and the usual side orders; I think pigeon, partridge and summat else. Anyway - you could tell they were proper game birds by the amount of lead shot in the bloody things. Two cracked teeth and a lot of customers who weren't sure whether to make a joke or a formal complaint :)
(foolish_child, Wed 3 May 2006, 23:59, Reply)

story number two which is actually on topic
Most horrifically insulting meal out I've had has to be courtesy of the Hilton Docklands, one of London's premium hotels where I was staying for a work conference. Wine £4.50 for a small glass, rooms outrageously priced for being distinctly average - your usual Hilton. We had a company dinner there one night and the meat which came for the standard option was completely unidentifiable - nobody could work out whether it was lamb, beef or catfood. Whatever it was, it tasted foul. The vegetarian option was a filo pastry concoction and when my colleague cut into hers she found the filling encased in a plastic bag. Still, as long as Paris and Nicky are kept in shoes and handbags, eh...
( fish_kettle, Wed 3 May 2006, 21:34, Reply)

have you ever been to a Harvester.. well don't
This is not a meal I've had inflicted on me so apologies but I have witnessed many potential poisonings courtesy of said establishment in which I used to work a few years ago (in a very dodgy part of Reading). Firstly they would employ any tramp off the street as a chef and the chefs' standard cooking method would be to take the chicken/steak etc straight out of the freezer and whack it on the hot grill until it was cooked on the outside. Cue many meals sent back gushing with blood. I sadly saw one of the chefs I had worked with a few years later begging in Camden. Secondly being an equal opportunities employer they hired a guy with Special Needs whose sole job was to wash the salad. Needless to say he didn't do it very well so the salad bar would be regularly crawling with bugs. Thirdly they only changed the cooking oil for the chips once every month or so so any fried potato products came with a pleasant rancid aftertaste. Lastly they made me wear a uniform which consisted of a canary yellow blouse and a pair of blue floral culottes. Bastards. Apologies for lack of political correctness and length but see it as a public health warning.
( fish_kettle, Wed 3 May 2006, 21:28, Reply)

Cockroaches
On holiday in Greece with the family a few years back we were eating at an outdoor restaurant one night when I discovered a live cockroach wandering around my plate.

I called the waiter over to point it out and in broken English he explained that it must have just fallen out of a tree. Despite the distinct lack of trees in the vicinity I accepted his argument, flicked the cockroach at my brother and carried on eating.

Well, you can't let souvlaki go to waste can you?
(The Sun King, Wed 3 May 2006, 20:18, Reply)

Crap meal
I was once extremely disappointed when the succulent deep fried crab meat I was being offered turned out in fact to be deep fried crab sticks...
(AlexanderDeLarge, Wed 3 May 2006, 20:11, Reply)

What exactly is this meat?
I'm eating at a chinese in Wakefield. No qualms about the food, all is fine. Until a big black guy walks in carrying a dead cat by the tail. He slams it down on the counter and shouts "you're not getting any more till I get paid!" and storms out. Followed by most of the customers.

He MUST have been pissed, and just found the poor dead creature in the street somewhere. He MUST have. Or so I keep telling myself.
(viridian, Wed 3 May 2006, 19:20, Reply)

also from wong kei
1. A waiter's response to a request for a fork: "No! Shut mouth and eat!"

2. left a 1p tip. waiter hurled it at our group on the way out.
(chimpforgettable, Wed 3 May 2006, 19:12, Reply)

West Sahara
In the desert. Literally the middle of nowhere.

My mate is a vegetarian. Find this little cafe type place in a little village, and the chap speaks French. (moi aussi)

So, no problem getting him to understand what a vegetarian would eat then.

The reply from the waiter was along the lines of:
'Mate, your in the fucking desert. There IS no fucking vegetation.'

Laughed until I cried.
(inflateable, Wed 3 May 2006, 18:35, Reply)

scunny chippy
In Scunthorpe there is a chippy (note, not chip shop. CHIPPY) on Frodigham Road.

You can buy all manner of deep fried goodness in there.

If you fancy a burger, You can have one: £1.50
If you're a pikey and fancy a burger you can have an "economy burger" 50p

I shit you not, that's what it says on the menu!!
(neildeal, Wed 3 May 2006, 17:28, Reply)