Unexpected Horse!
“Tak, Oldemor!” I said, as I arrived in Struer, Denmark, and my Great Grandmother presented me with my birthday present. I had turned Eighteen, and was abroad (and yet at home) on my own for the first time in my life.

I was there to celebrate my Great Grandmother’s upcoming Eighty-Seventh birthday. The big day came around, and the house, nestled deep within Struer’s cobbled streets, was a hive of activity. Cold meats of all descriptions were laid out. Frikadellen were being fried off in the biggest pan I’ve ever seen while røde pølser boiled gently on the stove. It was a true Det kolde bord, and we surrounded the family with lashings of Tuborg and Faxe. The scene was set.

People started arriving from all over the country. Within an hour, the house was full to the rafters, and so it was that we sat down to eat. I piled my plate high and, just as I was about to tuck in to the feast, I noticed a small plate with grated cheese on it, that no-one else seemed to be interested in. Praising my thoughtful family for providing a little something to go with the cured ham, I stuck my fork in.

Taking a good piece of rye bread, I spread a generous helping of Lurpak across it (is there anything nicer than Lurpak on Danish rye?). I put down a thick layer of grated cheese, and topped it with a slice of peppered Danish Salami, and a nice slice of cured ham. It was the king of all Pålæg.

I opened my mouth wide, as wide as it would go, and felt the cool sensation as it began to water. I raised the sandwich to the cavernous opening, and must have pushed around half of it in to my great, fat mouth.

I chewed, my face painted with the dumb expression of one who is being gluttonous and is damned proud of it. I chewed. But it was rapidly becoming clear that something was very, very wrong. Instead of the lovely creamy sensation of cheese, my mouth was becoming hotter and hotter. The colour change that ran up my neck and in to my cheeks and forehead is now part of family folklore. I wouldn’t be surprised if steam had started flowing out of my ears. I felt the bile rising, and rushed to the toilet.

I shall omit what happened in that room, for the purposes of decency. That, and you fine people have been told enough of my vomit in the last few weeks.

I returned to the table, pale of face and shaky of leg, to be met by raucous laughter. I opined that the cheese must be off.

“Not cheese!” said my Great-Grandmother, “Radish of Horse!” Another peal of laughter burst around the table.

“For fanden!” I cried. I had stuffed my greedy face with a thick layer of grated, fresh, horseradish. From that day to this, I have not been able to eat it.

And that is how I was made to vomit by an unexpected Horse!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:49, 7 replies)

By Thors hammer!
A most entertaining read. 'Radish of horse' :D

What is this For Fanden?
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:19, closed)

Put simply...
'Oh Fuck'... ;)
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:25, closed)

Entertaining *and* educational
Thats what it's all about

ta!
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:14, closed)

does 'oldemor'
mean 'old mother'?
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:26, closed)

That's the literal translation, yes...
We use 'Old' as 'Great'.

So:

Father: Fa
Mother: Mor
Father's Mother: Famor
Father's Mother's Mother: Oldemor

Sort of thing...
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:41, closed)

Ack.
I've grown it and used it several times - and as someone not affected by onions my eyes have never felt as much pain as being within 2 feet of freshly grated horseradish. It should be classified as a chemical weapon that stuff.

Clicky for sympathy.
(OP, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:28, closed)