Kids love a trip to McDonalds...
...but I reckon hundreds of the little buggers, perhaps even thousands are being denied this simple joy because thier parents are veggies or even worse, vegans - you know, the fundamentalist type that sniff with disapproval at you if you so much as pick up a drumstick.*

I qualify this statement with three phrases: Fruit Bag. Carrot Sticks. What the fuck.

You see, I've yet to meet a kid under ten who doesn't hop impatiently from one foot to the other at the prospect of a Maccy D's cheeseburger or at the very least, chicken nuggets. It's why they want to go there in the first place. And I can only imagine the bitter disappointment of the pillocks they've been stuck with as parents saying 'No no no, meat is murder, munchkin - you have a fruit bag instead'. Fucking fruit bag? If you were a nipper and in McDonalds, how gutted would you be to be stuck with that? Without burgers, a trip to McDonalds is utterly pointless and qualifies fully as a crap meal out. I mean, you don't go for the decor or the witty repartee of the serving staff, do you?

I've made a pact with myself that if I ever witness a kid being denied in such a fashion, I mean to buy an extra cheeseburger and slip it to the little tyke somehow - 'Here you go - see how the other half live, halfpint' :)
_________________________________________

* /off topic but still worth a mention: A former girlfriend's elder sister did that to me once - she was one of the really hardcore vegans, as was her hubby. I've never seen a more emaciated pair outside of a country beset by famine or a rehab centre. The hubby was okay to talk to and a real music lover, but the sister was an opinionated cunt, especially when it came to preaching about veganism. And preaching she was at a barbecue hosted by some friends of mine. She went on almost incessantly, noticeably pissing off my mate who was preparing the fine victuals that most of us were enjoying. So, I ambled across to the barbie and reached for a drumstick with a quick 'watch this' wink at my mate before rejoining the group with my prize.

As expected, she made no attempt to hide her disapproval in either gesture or word. Whilst she wittered on with many a poisonous glance at me I ate my meaty treat with almost theatrical gusto. When I had naught but the bone left I told her that I have no problem with her choice of sustenance, and even though I myself don't agree with it, I respect her decision to chuck whatever she likes down her neck. However, I pointed out, since she obviously had no such respect for me or my choice not to break with the way we were made on that score (i.e. with incisors and canines in our jaws) then I felt complled to demonstrate how that lack of respect on her part made me feel. The foolish woman issued the challenge 'Go on, then'. To be honest, the act of eating and enjoying it inches away from her was originally intended as the demonstration I spoke of, but this subtle point was evidently lost on the insensitive twat. I decided that I needed to crank it up a notch. So, I pulled the front of her top forward and dropped the greasy bone into her almost non-existent cleavage. The resulting hoo-haa was most entertaining. The softarsed bint even demanded a lift home so that she could shower - a demand that I'm happy to report fell upon deaf ears. She had to make do with a moist towelette and my mate the chef giggling uncontrollably every time he looked at her.

She didn't speak to me for nearly 18 months after that and even once she did, never raised veganism vs carnivorism ever again. A result on both counts, I feel. And the GF? 'We always try to tell her to shut up, but she never listens to us - good work there'. What a girl she was :)
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:40, Reply)

Piss poor shoddy cunts
I was once reviled to discover that i had been given a steak knife with which to eat my fish.

Who the fuck do these people think they are?
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:37, Reply)

the pizzler in sizzler
this story is one of my fondest memories of my younger cousin who passed away a few years ago from cancer and also a rather unpleasant dining experience.

when i was 9 or thereabouts my mum and i lived with my uncle and his famly in australia for about 6 months.

shortly after we'd arrived in the country the whole australian contingent of our family thought they'd take us to a sizzler restaurant for a big meal as we didnt really have big all you can eat buffet restaurants in england back then (1990) so it was something of a novelty.

the restaurant was heaving that night and we waited ages for our table to be ready, when we were finally seated i was sat with my two cousins at the end of the table and their mum disappeared to the other end to try and have a nice quiet meal.

the younger of my two cousins was only about 2 at the time and was playing up a bit as he wanted to run around and cause havoc (as any self respecting 2 year old might) but we made him sit down instead. once we'd started eating he complained he wanted to go to the toilet so i told his mum but she just ignored him (i think she'd partook of a little too much wine as was beyond caring if he made a scene). so his protests continue until it gets to the point he stops shouting and just stands up on his chair, drops his trousers and unleashes an arcing stream of piss through the air onto the table and all the food thereupon. his mum still doesnt really bat an eyelid so i jump up and pull his trousers up (i was a rather responsible 9 year old) and tell another adult what he'd done. cue a hasty request for the bill and an even hastier exit from the restaurant by our whole group. the look of shock on the faces of the other customers sticks with me until today but it was the one guy who was with his wife/girlfriend who saw it happen and laughed so hard he nearly choked that made it all the more priceless.

and that is my favourite memory of my departed cousin, the little pisser.
( HatBeard, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:29, Reply)

Halls Food
University halls of residence food is awful, as I'm sure many a student will agree. In all fairness, it wasn't bad every single day, just most of them - all of it lukewarm, potatoes with everything (pasta and chips, anyone?) and at least one of the options containing "grey sauce" (so called because it was greyish and had no distinctive flavour whatsoever...). Specialities included "pig pasta" (we think it was supposed to be carbonara, but it had huge chunks of ham floating in the aforementioned grey sauce) and "glue pudding" (some sort of sponge that was never cooked properly and was rather sticky and glue like in the centre).

But the best offerings were the ones that the kitchen staff named themselves. There was label next to a dish of brown stuff labelling it 'meat biryani'. Upon asking what sort of meat it was, we were told "it is meat". When questioning what sort of fish was hidden in the deep fried greasy lump they were being served, my corridor-mate was told "fish. White fish. Chips?".

And, one night, a mate asked "what flavour is the ice-cream?" since it was a sort of yellowy colour and she didn't know if it was banana or vanilla. The answer? "Yellow." "Yes, I can see that, but it vanilla or banana?" "It is yellow."

And we found flies in the vinegar in the first term. They were still there when we left at the end of the year. Yummy.
(sanity challenged, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:26, Reply)

To turn the question on its head
Go to Cats (obligatory "How are you today gentlemen" joke upon arriving) in Finsbury Park - there's the most amazing dish called the Volcano chicken which is, essentially, a chicken on fire. Last time I went I ordered this and the waitress advised me to lean back. The next thing I know I'm blind and checking if my eyebrows are still there. Awesome stuff. Oh, and the service and food were excellent.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:20, Reply)

Meal out, meal in, meal back out again..
Had been working really hard, 100 hour weeks sort of hard.

Too tired to cook at 10:00pm, at the end of 12 hour shift on sunday, so bought frozen pizza from garage. (OK, but I'm not the first one to stretch the QOTW, am I?)

Was so ill shortly afterwards. Will not give details, but I honked so hard I ruptured the blood vessels in both my eyes. They were both bright red, almost no white at all.

This was handy later. If you phone in on a Monday morning with a "Stomach upset", when working in a merchant bank as a contractor, it's treated as saying "I can't be arsed to come in, or even make a decent excuse".

Turning up on Tuesday, looking like a sci-fi extra, generated appropriate apologies...then mirth.

Bastards. Now do you know why I emigrated?
(BeatsWork, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:18, Reply)

At least it didn't go off in my face
I had a visit to the States a short while ago to see a friend of mine (a NON-weirdo I met on the interweb). I find eating out in much of America (well, the bits I've been too) quite intimidating. Just too much... FOOD. Salads in tortilla dustbins with two-inch thick layers of cheese. Shrimps the size of motorbikes. Burritos like rolled-up sleeping bags.

So when my friend and I took a little road trip up to Washington Island in Wisconsin, we found only three places open to eat deep fried unpleasantness. It made sense to buy for a barbecue and cook out. Baked potatos. Lean steak. Coleslaw. Yum. And the piece de resistance: cheese-filled sausages. God bless America!

Except they didn't seem so appetising when, upon reaching optimum cooked-ness, the ends burst and they ejaculated liquid cheese all over the coals and the rest of us tea.

Um. Appetite allgone.
( weebear1974 discovering the joy of cat rape since, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:17, Reply)

Curry Bomb
One fine summers evening me and a few mates went for a late curry after a few hours on the sauce.
The moment our popadoms arrived i karate chooped them to pieces and we decided it might be better to bag up the reast and leave, rather than piss everybody else off in our advanced drunked up state, and possibly risk jissom curry or bogey bhajis etc.

On the way home we sang a drunken song and a man shouted from a 2nd story window in some flats "shut the fuck up" or something equally rude.

My mate chucked 30 odd quids worth of curry through his window.

No apologies for irrelevace.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:07, Reply)

Helpful Chinese Bloke?
Went to friends for a Bar-B-Q, not enough food so later we decide to get a Chinese takeaway in..

Friend comes back giggling, the ordering process for my chicken in black bean sauce had gone as follows:

Friend - "..and a chicken in black bean sauce, please."
Chef - "Sorry, we don't do chicken in black bean sauce."
Friend - "OK, so what's the nearest thing to that then?"
Chef - "Chicken in Yellow bean sauce."
Friend - "Fine, Chicken in Yellow bean sauce, please."
Chef - "Nope, we don't do that either."
(BeatsWork, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:06, Reply)

Babies on the menu
About 2 weeks ago I found an article on shoutwire about a restaurant in Guandong, China where you can eat a baby. It's pretty sick and duly the article has been removed but a search should probably turn it up if you're sick enough to want to read it. It did include pictures, and having seen a pic of what appears to be a still born or 1 week old baby floating in a bowl of chinese soup I've barely eaten since...

www.shoutwire.com/viewstory/10045/Babies_On_The_Menu_In_Guangdong_Southern_China
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:51, Reply)

Poo Sausage
Andoulliette is not a poo sausage, it's tripe.

Marginally less grim, but not poo.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:49, Reply)

re: coat
not me but a friend...

in a restaurant with his girlfriend, nice meal, good service, low lights, candles and apparently some fragrant oil burner just to add to the atmosphere. Everything's going swimmingly till they're interrupted by a customer from the table behind them, who complained "Excuse me, could you put your coat out..."

wasn't an oil burner then.
(eightAce, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:48, Reply)

There are two chip/kebab shops near my friends house
he's regularly eaten at both, but has a preference for one because he's had a lower percentage of trips that have caused food poisoning.

That will be the one that's been closed a few times in the last few years for rat problems
( Citizen Cavy Admires your passion for conformity, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:43, Reply)

Student Meals
My student and staff cafe went by the somewhat presumptious title of 'Bistro'. Upon starting university life, many of us were given meal tokens funded by our worried parents....however after just one meal, many had binned the tickets and bought their own food. The meals were awful - any meat dishes usually consisted of fat and gristle, all of the food was tasteless and made early in the morning, so it sat under hot plates all day yet still managed to be served cold. Meals usually had formed a nice skin on top by the time it got served, which the 'chef' helpfully stirred in just before sticking it on your plate

However a friend of mine kept the faith and continued to eat there pretty much every night, and usually ended up taking her meal back, pointing out something wrong with it and getting another lukewarm replacement. The complaint was usually something like finding hairs on her food..... anyway the worst was when she was eating some pasta and found the key from the tuna tin still in it - luckily it got trapped on her tongue bar so she didn't choke.

Another acquaintance of mine worked there in his final year, and told me that when the kitchen dishwasher broke, they had trouble sorting out some repair men. So they washed everyones plates in the same cold, greasy water for 3 days.

Oh yeah, and there were rumours that my local indian takeaway failed its health check because they found 3 different type of man spunk in the grated cheese ( used for national delicacy Cheese & Chips). I have been told by an ex employee that this is probably not true. However i still believe it, probably because the staff and food are dodgy, plus i'm the only person in the village to have never eaten there. Ha !
(heartspark, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:25, Reply)

Just so many to choose from (vol.2)
In Hemel Hempstead there is some naff arty farty restaurant above a theatre in the "old town". I was there as part of a large group. The menu sucked (no chips) so I ordered a basic chicken dish etc.

During the starters the power went out when some plonker in the theatre over did it with the lights.

Begin a very long wait for main course. Out came candles to light the place (kinda nice) but it did nothing for easing things like seeing other people in the room etc.

Finally we track the waitress down and enquire, it emerges the chef is now cooking by candlelight on a gas stove.

Eventually I get my food which was missing a few key things, like potatoes, as "they were in the oven". I wolf it down but am still starving, so looking forward to pudding....

...but pudding never came. Not because they couldn't cook or defrost it but because they couldn't find it! It was too dark to locate it!

About this time an electrician turns up and the burglar alarms get triggered... We are evacuated and the police turn up etc.

Eventually I'm back at the table still fecking hungry and feeling a little odd. We all pay up and leave, about 3am I'm awake again... with food poisoning!

Trouble is, I'm not alone. My mum and girlfriend also have food poisoning! I'm sure you can imagine 3 puking invalids cannot share 1 bathroom... I got the kitchen sink half full by morning. (Should have taken the plug out before I started).
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:17, Reply)

Sri Lanka
Went to a little restaurant in Ella, Sri Lanka. Had a nice enough meal but stupidly I ordered the local speciality desert "curd and honey".

I hated it and when asked by the waiter if I liked it, even more stupidly decided to tell him the truth.

He went quiet.
He looked very angry.
He went away.
Phew.

He came back.
Oh sh*t.
Then he asked me what was wrong with it and where else I'd had it better.

Turns out he owns the restaurant and his wife is the chef. I paid and left quickly expecting to be knifed in the back by a very quiet and very angry Sri Lankan.
(breakfastwithjam, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:10, Reply)

Just so many to choose from (vol.1)
On a hungry journey home my folks and I stopped at a "Berni Inn" (many years ago!) to grab some much needed food. Granted they were a little busy but it went like this:

Queue to get a table, wait 20 mins for menus. Order some food. Wait. Wait. Find waitress, chase up meal, wait some more. After 1hr20 had passed since ordering hunger got the better of us.
My mum can be a viper when pissed off so when the waitress said "yeah, shouldn't be much longer" my mum says "We've waited long enough thankyou." and makes us leave.

So after nearly 2 hours in a crap restaurant we leave still unfed! Drove home and made dinner there instead.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 12:08, Reply)

Tiger Lil's, Islington, Christmas 2002
One of my colleagues organised our work Christmas meal for the department in this restaurant. I guess when she herself didn't turn up it was something of a bad omen.

All you can eat and drink for £29.99! Woo yay!

Woo NO. For the uninitiated, Tiger Lil's serves Chinese food. Or rather, you go up and assemble your own plate of raw meat and vegetables, and one of a row of chefs toss it morosely about in a wok in front of you.

There were about 25 of us, together with large number of numpties from other organisations who also thought it would be a good idea to stand in a queue all night. As we surveyed all we COULDN'T eat, a unanimous decision was made to make the most of the all-you-can-drink (as long as it's house wine) aspect of the offer and we ordered a bottle of wine each to swig in the queue.

An hour and a half later, I watched in wonder as one of the chefs turned my towering pile of raw chicken and veg into a meal approximately the size of a postage stamp, only to lose it as soon as I sat unsteadily down to my mate who couldn't be arsed to queue and simply stole my dinner. Which was just as well, as it had a chunk of broken glass in it.

Any pretence of eating was abandoned shortly after and we determinedly got stuck into the plonk to ensure we got value for money. Much unpleasantness ensued. Our (supposedly gay)lead for Equality, Diversity and Preventing Harrassment rammed his hand down my bra ("But they just looked so SOFT"), a long-term extra marital affair commenced in the toilet and the HR Director left in disgust. I recall very little after.

I woke up the following morning with bruises all over my buttocks.

Suffice to say, I've not been back.
( weebear1974 discovering the joy of cat rape since, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:56, Reply)

While returning home from Melbourne some years ago, along the Great Ocean Road,
my missus and I tried several times to get a meal but due to a big surfing comp at Bell's Beach, everything was booked out for miles.

Au Dodo, Mauritian Cafe.

Ah, French food with an exotic Indian/African twist we thought.
No.
Septic tank contents and small unidentified animals fried with a shitload of garlic and cream, served on a bed of rice with a hint of what may have been saffron (for colour) but I suspect was more likely pineapple syrup.

Our bowels rebelled for the entire remainder of the drive, 750 km, took twice as long to get home.
(goober, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:55, Reply)

How awful
i once sat next to a girl who had ordered a meal which appeared with a carcus of mutated giant sea devil beast on it.
(George_Dawes, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:53, Reply)

Insect chrysalis
Me and the missus were in a town north of Beijing called Chengde. We'd had a bit of luck the previous night in a restaurant by just pointing to the Chinese words for 'chicken' 'veg' 'pork' etc in the Rough Guide, so we headed into a local tea house (very nice - all flowers and swing seats) with possibly a bit too much confidence.

We managed to order some jasmine tea with ease and I decided it would be nice to have some snacks to go with it. I noticed another couple happily eating what looked like chicken satay - basically chicken pieces on a stick. I got the waiter's attention, and indicated through hand gestures and some grunts that we'd like some of those. He said a few words in Chinese, which I took to be him confirming the order. I nodded and he disappeared into the kitchen.

He returned with a plate of food on sticks. Only it wasn't chicken. Each stick had on it about four round pods, a bit smaller than a ping pong ball. They looked like something designed by HR Geiger. As I looked at the food confused, Mrs Klugman (who had been doing her reading up) said that what we had been presented with was a local dish of silkworm pupae, each pod a chrysalis containing a little worm (or moth/butterfly I suppose depending on how far gone they were). Although we both like to think of ourselves as worldly types we were both fairly revolted. Conscious of the importance of not losing face in the far east, I crunched into the pods, trying not to notice the green gunge that came out. They did taste alright (I think they were dusted with chilli) but Mrs K wasn't going to play and expertly hid the pods in her napkin when the waiter wasn't looking, before chucking them in a bin outside. Who knows, perhaps some beautiful butterflies emerged from that bin a few days later.

*pop*
(JackKlugman, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:45, Reply)

all loved up and no service
On valentines day a few years ago I did the usual taking the missus out for a meal, ok so I'd left it til a couple of days before to book and could only get a table for about 9 and though fair enough a few drinks before would help set the mood.

So after a few drinks we headed to the establishment which was full of couples, now this place was split onto 3 levels so we were very welcome, being put on the top floor with a sort of balcony overlooking the kitchen...after a while someone finally came to take our order and did bring the drinks quickly, always good.

However after about half an hour the starters arived, think I'd ordered some mushroom thing which were very cold, slimey and not what I'd call edible, as for the dough balls, well rubber would be more accurate.

Eventually with the stomach trying to digest itself due to the hunger pangs and me getting increasingly frustrated whilst the missus who is always patient reminding me that it is very busy so to just chill. Plus overlooking the kitchen staff at about 11pm they seemed to be doing sweet f.a. but taunting us with odours of nice food, so I wander off to find someone two floors down and remind them there are customers, another couple near us seemed to be going through the same thing.

They did offer a half bottle of wine to try to calm us which was ok for a few minutes but then the hunger returned.

About an hour or so after we'd intially made the order some rather cold evidently left over pasta arrived which even as a student I'd have turned down but had no option but to eat by this late stage.

Seening as no one could be arsed to clear the plates I then had to go searching for staff again, who then asked if we wanted anything like desert or coffee, if I'd have said yes I would guess we would still be waiting now.

Once the bill had finally arrived, having had to go ask again I was all for refusing to pay and just walk out, however the missus insisted I pay something so putting a whole 50p on the plate with the bill I then had to go back down the bloody stairs, a rather bemused lass looked a bit shocked at it and asked about the rest of the money.

Bearing in mind this was one night when they were fully booked and should have had enough staff on the service was crap to the point of nonexistent, told them how I was trying to impress the lady and that was more than I thought it was worth, she then went to get the manager who didn't really say anything and we walked off, having to laugh about it as it's all you could do.

Stopped for a kebab on the way home and was much more enjoyable.

And the place should you ever fancy going out...
ASK in the centre of Leicester, still there but I'd never go back.

no apologies for length either
(inkworm, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:37, Reply)

Portugal's national dish
Mrs C and I ventured to the fabled land of Portugal on holiday once, where we feasted upon that nation's national dish in one of their finest restaurants.

You may not have heard of bacalhau. It is dried, salted cod that is then rehydrated before serving.

You may not have heard of it because it smells like 20 unwashed old ladies' undergarments, left to simmer in fish guts for three hot summer weeks. And it tastes much worse than it smells.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:34, Reply)

theres nothing worse
than eating a dodgy chicken club sandwich, and it kicking in when you are 30 metres underwater, scuba diving.

You can't get to the surface in the required time frame or you will most likely die by nitrogen boiling up out of your blood.

That wetsuit got burnt, let me tell you.

on a positive note - went to the fat duck last week (smoked bacon and egg flavour ice cream rocks !)
( pregnantfridge, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:12, Reply)

Poo Sausage
Travelling through France a couple of years ago, we stayed the night in a small-ish, non-touristy town. We went to a local bar which served food. Speaking some French, I saw "andouillette" on the menu, which I knew to be a kind of sausage.

The waitress did look bemused, and asked if I was sure because "most people only take one bite and leave the rest". Not wanting to look like I didn't know what I was doing, I just confirmed the order.

My sausage arrived. About two inches thick and twelve inches long, very dark brown. Basically, it looked like a poo sausage.

I cut it open. It smelled like a poo sausage - with small pieces of slimy-looking, suspicious "meat" oozing out. Seriously, it smelt and looked like someone had taken a dump on a plate and given it to me.

I managed to eat half of it - well, there was no way I was going to send it back. But I have my limits...

Andouillette is a French delicacy.

Andouillette is a poo sausage.
(Steve The Monkey, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:10, Reply)

Trevorthecat I feel your sausage-related pain.
When I was young back in the 1970s my parents decided to emulate The Good Life, and become self sufficient. This was all well and good until they decided to take a pheasant from the local gamekeeper, gut it, draw it, hang it and then cook and eat it. (I was expected to participate in the eating at the age of maybe 5).

The pheasant smelt of the worst kind of bowel related hell as it hung in the garage stinking. When Mum cooked it, it smelt like freshly puked vomit. I was, obviously, not keen to eat it. She and my Dad tucked in, oblivious to the smell, until they realised it had the consitancy of old boots boiled in linament.

We scraped the remains in the bin. I forget what else we ate that night - possibly nothing, our appetites ruined by the feast we'd just passed up.
(LunarJim, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:09, Reply)

French Food
Not particularly on topic, once, on a biker trip to France (Le Mans 24hr bike race) we were camping out round the course and one of my friends had bought some rather good looking sausages from the local supermarket. We carefully barbecued them until they were cooked to a nice sausagey golden brown, no carbonisation at all. Now I should mention that these sausages are called "Andouillette" and unbeknownst to me are made of all the worst animal parts such as intestines, ears and arseholes. I took one huge bite thinking I was about to taste the french equivalent of a cumberland or lincolnshire variety, instead I got a mouth full of rubbery gack which was instantly spat out. These truly are the most heinously vile items of foodage I have ever experienced. Then again what would you expect from a nation that considers eating garden pests and amphibian limbs a delicacy.

French fucknuggets.
(urgle-splurgle molesting small goats since, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 11:08, Reply)

my mother's sausages
My mother brought home a pound of sausages. Very strange sausages. Swiss, or something, but my memory is hazy on the origin. My memory is not hazy about the smell. They stank. Of dick cheese. I kid you not. As she merrily fried them, the retch inducing stench of unclean helmet infused the entire house. My dad made himself scarce (thanks, dad) while my brothers and I sat at the table utterly refusing to eat such things. I think the stalemate lasted about an hour before my mother finally caved.

Apologies for it not being out, but the worst meal out I've ever had is only something like the food not turning up, or something.

Best meal? Spaghetti with mussels at the Studio cafe in Elstree and Borehamwood. yum yum yum
(trevorthecat, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 10:50, Reply)

Eat my spit, you mother!
Not really a meal as such- I went to Sainsburies in Camden to buy a seafood salad (sea insects and stuff). When I got back to my desk I took a mouthful and found it to be completely frozen.
Being mindful of possible food poisoning, I gobbed it straight back out into the plastic packaging and stormed off back to Sainsburies.
It was a full 10 minutes away, allowing me to build up a good amount of righteous indignation....
"look here, I want to see the manager".
After 10 minutes of ranting at him about the near-death experience I had just had with his prawn lollies, he claimed that it was not possible for them to be frozen - they don't freeze their seafood.

I said "try it- see for yourself"

He did, and I winced internally as I saw him try the mouthful I had just spat out.

SO, I got my money back, a free sandwich, and the absolute joy of seeing a jobsworth McManager eating my flob.

Apologies for girth my dear - you will grow to love it
( MontyyouterribleCUNT I gave Jeremy Kyle cancer, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 10:34, Reply)