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This is a question Terrible food

Back when I was a student, we had a "clear out the fridge" party. Everyone brought what they had left and the idea was to make a big meal out of it.

The stew/casserole/whatever was going surprisingly well until someone added the tin of mackerel in tomato sauce they'd been hoarding all year.

What's the worst thing you've ever cooked or eaten? Who's the worst cook you've encountered?

[and yes, we've asked this before, but way, way back before we had the fancy QOTW pages]

(, Thu 17 May 2007, 10:23)
Pages: Latest, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Badger badger badger, mushroom mushroom!
This is one of the most horrible stories I have ever heard. It features, as you can guess, Students and Badgers and was related to me by my mate, Rory, (names haven't been altered to protect the guilty).

Anyway, Rory was at uni with a bunch of agricultural students, basically young farmers.
They indulged in the usual students antics involving dressing up as women and stealing turkeys at night from local farms.

One evening, they were walking back from the local when they saw a dead badger at the side of the road. Seeing the opportunity to raise his hardness rating, Beardy, for that was his name, picked up said badger and carried it back to their digs announcing that he would eat it.

Once back at home, Beardy skinned the badger which had lain for probably all day at the least by a road in the sun and then cut off the "choiciest" bits and proceded to fry them with plenty of sauce. Rory said that the smell as he was skinning it was bad enough but when the meat began to cook it became unbearable. Still, fuelled by alcohol and testosterone, Beardy managed to eat a large portion of the badger before dumping the rest of the carcass in the bins behind the flats and settling down for a good nights X-boxing.

Morning broke and with it came the sounds of a rather unwell Beardy evacuating himself with rather more gusto than usual. He continued in this way most of the morning with a raging fever and almost hollow inside. He decided to try to replenish his fluids with beer which didn't have the desired effect. By now the flat reeked of dead badger from the night before as the washing up hadn't been done and now the smell of digested badger vomit and his colon.

Two days later and Beardy was now shitting blood in copious amounts and admitted defeat and called the doctor. Doctor immediately diagnoses acute food poisinong and asks what he had eaten. "Dead badger" replies Beardy and explains what had happened.

The Doctor then places Beardy in hospital whereupon he is stuck full of more needles than a voodoo doll and interviewed and tested by a Contagious Diseases team.

It took two weeks for Beardy to get back to "normal" and he swears that his days of eating dead animals found by the sides of the roads are over.

Length? 2 feet long and a foot wide before it went in.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 13:15, Reply)
Why, just WHY??
OK, this doesn't involve poo or nasty body squirtings, just a food stuff that was obviously copied from a picture.

I was in Northern Ireland and at university, so poor. This is the only reason why anyone would eat in the university cafe type place. They managed to suck out all the taste and texture of any food and produce a terrible grey mush. That wasn't the problem when I went in with my two pounds and spied a pizza.

It wasn't a big pizza, but it appeared to be well made. A slice of tomato that was still red, real cheese, two spears of asparragus (no really) and in the middle a black olive. I hadn't had an olive since leaving home, they weren't high on the shopping list (that was beer and fags) so I payed my money and went to enjoy my illicit middleclass olive eating pleasure.

It was a grape

A fucking GRAPE

I can only think that they once saw a picture of a pizza and thought in thier lard addled minds... "oooh that black thing there. It must be a grape, for there are no other black round foods".

I still feel the dissapointment...
(, Sun 20 May 2007, 13:30, Reply)
I used to
work in a bar on Oxford Street, and we had a rather unpleasant australian chef, to whom I shall refer to as Oz.

He had worked for my boss at a number of different places for a number of years. My boss, a cockney chap referred to as The Whelk, for some reason maintained his employment despite his mediocre ability and unpleasent personal habits, which included shagging, I quote, 'literally dozens of whores'.

This tale was related to me years after the event, which took place at a previous workplace. The Whelk ambled through the kitchen one morning, greeting a hungover Oz. Oz grunted back. As the Whelk was leaving the kitchen, Oz piped up with,

"I brought a whore back last night and used one of the big snags on her. I put it back so it won't effect the stock."

The Whelk looked puzzled. He was easily bamboozled by exotic slang. 'Snag'? Still, it didn't affect the stock, he thought, so didn't matter.

"Yeah, whatever Oz."
The Whelk ambled off in the direction of his flat, liberally slopping his coffee, as was his wont.

Later that afternoon, the Whelk entered the kitchen, for several meals needed to be delivered to a table. They were a Lasagne, Toad in the Hole, and an all-day breakfast, consisting of eggs, bacon, a jumbo sausage, beans, fried bread and a tomato. As the Whelk took the food for delivery, Oz pointed out that

"that is the last of the big snags for the breakfasts, so from now on they'll have to get two small ones"

The Whelk nodded and left. He deposited the food with the diners and walked away. Then a penny dropped. 'Snag'.

"Oz, what did you say this morning? About Snags."
"That I used one of the big boys on a hooker last night. Put it back though."
Oz explained how he had used a seven inch frozen sausage to masturbate a middle aged prostitute.
The Whelk's jaw dropped.
"You put it back?"
"Don't worry. I used it."
Oz pulled the empty cardboard box from the freezer.
"Sold the last half dozen today. We need to order some more."

The Whelk's jaw dropped so far Oz could see his breakfast. His brain, meanwhile, stored a grotesque story for after work drinks.

At some point, on that day many years ago, a diner in a tatty pub somewhere to the west of London recieved a breakfast which included a sausage garnished with the juices of a lady of the night's vag. And they ate it.

I would make a poor joke about 'batter' here. But I won't.
(, Sun 20 May 2007, 16:46, Reply)
... for my little cousin one day. I found he was being very very quiet, sitting in the corner apparently playing with lego. On closer inspection he had actually been sucking on a slug. Sucking on a slug so voraciously in fact, he'd sucked it dry. It took some force to prise the corpse out of his jaw.

That's definitely the worst thing I've ever seen someone else eat at least.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 13:36, Reply)
Tinned chicken curry
It didn't seem such a bad idea at the time. Chicken curry. In a tin? Bob's your uncle! "Pah to your microwave curries!" I chortled as I ran to the checkout with the tin and a carton of Ribena, "I laugh in your face, Mr Vesta, for I have the subcontinental goodness in a handy cylindrical container... and what's more, judging by the gorgeously tempting photo on the label, it's going to be something to really savour!"

I think it was once the tin was opened that I realised I'd made a terrible error. It smelt like I imagine it smells in that bit in the abbatoir where they rip the shit out of the dangling animals' guts.

But I was young, hungry and impoverished; I'd spunked the rest of my money on fizzy lager and cigarettes, so it was tinned chicken curry or nothing. I slopped the humming brown mass into a saucepan and began to stir. And besides, how bad could it be? After all, I grew up on Uncle Ben's curries made by my mum that had carrots and sultanas in them.

(Think about that for a minute. You young folk have probably never had to endure the late 1970s-early 1980s concept of curry that oldies like me did. Yes, "curry" that bore about as much resemblance to South Asian cookery as Spud-u-like does to The Fat Duck. With *carrots* in it. And *sultanas*. Presumably so you'd have something to recognise when it came steaming out of your hoop the next day at the speed of light. All mixed up with shitloads of "Ignorant White Bastard Bloody Hot Curry Powder". It tasted like white spirit, but without the subtlety.)

Nothing could be worse than that. Could it?

About 20 minutes' stirring, in a desperate bid to find chicken meat among the bits of brain stem and pancreas, it was just about burnt enough that I'd have a go at it. Two mouthfuls in, there was a gurgle of protest from down below. "Damn you to hell!" I told my stomach, "This baby's coming down, and you're going to like it!" I forced a dozen or so mouthfuls of half-chewed chicken rectum and eyeball down before I couldn't bear it any more.

I spent the night in the bathroom, vomiting into the bath and over my legs, while spluttering gangrenous turds into an overflowing bowl, wishing I could rip myself a new hole so it would come out quicker and spare me the misery. I must have lost about three stone.

I haven't eaten tinned chicken curry since.
(, Mon 21 May 2007, 20:24, Reply)
Oh dear god Austria. A country famed for Der Governator, Mozart, the Berchtesgaden, lederhosen and, more to the point, its excellent and reasonably priced skiing.

A few years ago the promise of chucking myself down some prime, virgin pistes in the most heart-stoppingly, ball-quakingly beautiful scenery you can possibly imagine outside of Norway with my school chums took me to this godforsaken fiefdom.

Quite apart from the utter, utter chaos that reigned over the entire trip and the truly excellent skiing that was to be had, the two things that will be forever associated with Austria in my mind are the reasonably priced, unreasonably strong (80%, bejesus) rum and the food.

The food. In the same manner as a survivor of the Soviet gulags, I can't bring myself to give a narrative account of its horror, so instead I will give more of an itinerary of culinary suicide. Once more into the breach!

Soup: Water, grease (you could SEE it on the surface, urrrgh) and soggy croutons. Also saltier than a merman's jizm. This was the starter for every meal I ate, and was ignored every damn time. You wouldn't drink the Dead Sea, would you?

Bread: Loaves?! Gott in Himmel, vot are zey? I've never appreciated a 39p Freshdays Thick Sliced more than when forced to eat fucking baps for a week. Passable when smothered with some 'generic Lidl nut spread'.

Milk: Tasted slightly off all the time, and had a layer of cream/fat on the top so thick it needed spooning off. So no cereal, hot chocolate, coffee... the list goes on.

Wiener Schnitzel: All the crap cuts of veal mashed together, covered in breadcrumbs and cooked until it's dryer than Nefertiti's fadge. Like eating sinews preserved in formaldehyde.

Almdudler: Saw it in a shop on the slopes for about 20 cents less than the other bottled drinks, so I thought I'd give it a blast. Looked like apple juice so that's what I expected. Took a swig and immediately spewed it back up when the taste registered. Imagine urine, bleach and alcohol-free Diamond White mixed together in a cocktail of delight and you're about halfway there; definitely had the smell of fermentation about it. That it's the Austrian national drink speaks volumes.

Mutton: Managed the task once thought impossible, namely putting me off lamb. Swimming in grease, tough and hellishly overcooked, served with a side of beansprouts and lightly peppered pasta. I'm not making this up, I swear blind.

Nockerl: Served as dessert, but oh christ. Imagine bread covered in melted butter, with a few chocolate sprinkles on top. Tasted like coronary thrombosis, with a hint of metal.

For the 7 days we spent in this culinary backwater, I survived on the aforementioned overproof rum; the spaghetti carbonara served at the restaurants on piste; pizza ordered at the local pizzeria-cum-gay bar (again, this is 100% of fact) which had to be collected by walking the 2 miles to the local burgh and back under dead of night in temperatures of around -10 celsius, often in moderate blizzard conditions; ice tea which was (and still is) bloody lovely; and apple strudel, which is the official Best Thing About Austria.

Even the women were ugly for god's sake! And the cigarettes were... no, no more! My fragile mind can't take it! Yes Nurse, pass me a Temazepam if you please. No, don't worry about this pencil you silly strumpet, it's not even sharp. Give it back I say! BACK!

Apologies for, well, everything really...

EDIT: Got veal and mutton confused, arse!
(, Fri 18 May 2007, 1:35, Reply)
oh man i got this one down
so, setup is im staying in an old house near newquay. its tea time, so we break out the crackers and cheese (brie). so brie looks kind of like a slice of pizza, with white tops and bottoms and slightly yellowish insides. after spreading it on a couple crackers and taking a few bites, my sister screams. turns out that she spotted these little black dots moving in the brie.

yup. it turned out that we were eating a wedge of maggots. there was no cheese. none. just the white tops and bottoms and inside was a perfectly wedge shaped chunk of maggots with little tiny black heads moving around.

they tasted just like brie, as that was all that had eaten in their existence.

i still cant eat brie.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 19:58, Reply)
When me and my mates were 16 and full of vigour we used to have a middle of the week drinking club, to alleviate the tedium of school. So every Wednesday night we would head to my mates house, and have an umbajay. This was similar to a 'lethal' whereby portions of different spirits were mixed together. We included a bit of beer and made up a nice bowlful. We would then take it in turns to place a colander on our heads, pick up the bowl and take a glug.

Then you had to brew up a massive greenie and flob it into the mix and shout Umbajay.

And pass.

The game did not end until the whole concoction was gone, and believe me it got lumpy towards to bottom.

The defining moment was one of my bearded mates having one of the last glugs, looking at us with several people's phlegm clinging to his face hair, saying 'It's not too bad this'.

Yes, yes it was, but yet so so good.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 11:30, Reply)
Ahhh Japan...
as everyone knows, a place famous for its sparkling, whale-free seas.

Whilst living there I decided to try this delicacy, and what better way to enjoy its full flavour than to consume a full slab of it raw?

It was a bit like fishy steak, only it continued to bleed whilst it sat on my plate, like a silent accusation.

Next day, when it came time to 'Free Willy', he was surprisingly firm - although he did re-enter the water with a joyful splash.
(, Sat 19 May 2007, 12:23, Reply)
Special offer
I visited a pub in Colchester yesterday with a chalkboard sign up outside offering "Coffee and Muff only £1.95".

Clearly a bargain at any price although I usually find it best not to spill hot coffee on the muff.
(, Mon 21 May 2007, 11:41, Reply)
I saw some thing on myspace a week ago entitled "don't read this!", so naturally being an inquisitive human, i opened it, only to find that if i didn't repost it, a dead girl with no skin would come after me during the night!

you can imagine how peeved i was at this.

Anyway. having failed to repost the passage, I camped up all night with a few beers at the ready, awaiting the kruger-esque figure to appear next to me and ravage me of my life.

Imagine the bitches' fucking shock when i beat the shit out of her with a baseball bat, stamped on her cunt, hung her up in the basement for 5 days, cut her up into little pieces and ate her.

tasted like shit.
(, Sat 19 May 2007, 21:25, Reply)
I find the rationale for the war in Iraq

extremely difficult to swallow.
(, Sat 19 May 2007, 18:22, Reply)
I had a few disasters while learning to cook
I think that the fry-up I made after getting quite tipsy one night probably rates quite highly on that score. I didn't realise anything was unusual when the "oil" turned very bubbly. It was only the next morning when I woke up with the most disgusting taste of chemicals permeating my hangover that the penny finally dropped. I had fried everything in washing-up liquid.
Don't try it- it will make you sick.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 14:44, Reply)
after a heavy session on the pipe
I could feel a serious attack of the munchies coming on. I hadn't eaten all day and until then I was feeling fine.

I started on a packet of M&M's, only to feel unsatisfied. I ended up eating thirty six (36) bags of walkers crisps. thats an entire catering sized box.

When I woke up the next morning (around 3pm) I was still feeling light headed and had to hold back some very salty vomit. When I saw that the entire floor was coated in crisp packets and the air was thick with cheese and onion flavouring.

Now I can no longer eat walkers crisps without feeling ill.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 11:22, Reply)
bloody hands
I have a spare bedroom at my place and also live near the town centre and as such workmates often crash over when they have had a few too many sniffs of the barmaid's apron.

This particular time I also was a few sheets to the wind having spent most of the day wrestling with the barmaid's apron as part of a tag team with a colleague of mine. At kicking out time I managed to get the both of us home and through the front door, but I had to admit defeat and go straight to bed, the lightweight that I am.

The next morning I woke up to carnage. Blood stains all over the kitchen, bloody handprints all up the stairs to the spare bedroom and groaning noises from within.

I sobered up pretty sharpish, let me tell you.

A word of advice to you all:

If you own a jar of Baxters Baby Beetroot

a) keep it away from your pissed workmate

b) if this is not possible due to your own deal with Bacchus, at least make sure implements are available for the consumption of said baby beetroot; a fork, a spoon etc., Bacchus makes them blind to such implements (or at least the drawer containing them).

My workmate consumed a whole 750 g jar of baby beetroot (plus drinking the vinegar) with bare hands only and then decided bed would be a good idea. The blood (now known as beetroot juice) in the kitchen was frustration that beetroot does not tend to jump into your mouth without cutlery; shaking the jar does not make miracles happen, and so blood (beetroot juice) on all the walls.

The blood on the stairs was a result of being too pissed to get to bed without bouncing off all the walls: hands + beetroot juice vs magnolia silk paintwork.

The groaning sounds? What would you expect from a pissed up bastard who had ingested 750g of vinegar soaked bleurgh, including juice, on top of a day in the boozer?

3 days of purple sloppy poo, so they told me
(, Wed 23 May 2007, 20:46, Reply)
It tasted great at first
We took a friend's teenage niece to Canada for lunch. She had never been out of the country or met anyone who wasn't American. I thought it would be a cool treat for her.

Guess again. It was horrible. I'm amazed we went lynched by a mob of angry Canadians. She consistently said the absolute wrong thing--"hey, this looks like Monopoly money!" "What's that word we aren't supposed to say again, Canucks?" "This is just like a little America".

In the Vietnamese restaurant, her conversational opener to the waiter was "We sure bombed the hell out of your country, didn't we?" (I was speechless, a truly rare condition for me) She complained about: the food (which was exquisitely tasty) likening its appearance to dog food, the prices, the neighborhood, why couldn't they do things the right/American way, blah blah.

The topper occured during dessert. Hubby, friend and I all ordered sweet bean and coconut milk sundaes. It comes in a big parfait glass and is a mixture of red and green sweet beans with diced chunks of papaya and mango floating in a thin white milk. I dig in just in time to hear Terrible Tina say loudly, "Hey, that looks exactly like vomit!"

And it did.

Every Asian person there, i.e. all the other people in the place turned and gave us the stink-eye. We left. In a hurry. I have not seen Terrible Tina since. (22 years)
(, Mon 21 May 2007, 20:20, Reply)
Fish-based Swedish Culinary Humour, Part 2: LUTFISK
Cast your minds back to July 2004 where we were quizzed over hated Foods, preceeded by the now-customary "I live in Sweden" I brought you "Surströmming": A Culinary Delight that marries Decay, Rot and Fermentation to deliver an overpowering Fishy aroma and taste that has the welcoming appeal of a fetid dog-fart administered direct to the nose. If the mental image isn't familiar, heres a reminder.

So.. That was HATED foods... Here and now we have "terrible Food".. in a plot-twist that even George W could see coming I shall start with ....

..."I live in Sweden"...

...and I'd like to share the true horror that is LUTFISK: meaning "Lye Fish" and sounding like "Loot-Fisk": Consider it proof that Swedes like to have an entry in every category if at all possible, and have a way of defiling most of the sea's creatures.

Unhappy with Blatant Herring-Abuse, The nordic bunch like to violte Cod and Ling on a regular basis aswell. The practice of drying fish was once a necessity in order to store it: cheaper and easier than salting it. (The practice of marrying your cousins and sisters died out when the introduction of the bicycle allowed people to travel with more ease.. but strangely the introduction of readily available salt has not halted *this* equally dubious practice)

Now.. While my Icelandic mates happily chow down on dried Cod, (think of it as Fish-Jerky), The swedes feel compelled to "re-hydrate" thier desiccated fish, and turn it into LutFisk.

First off, you leave your dried fish in cold water for SIX DAYS. Swedes have learnt over time that this doesn't make for tasty food... So the water then gets switched for a lye-and-water solution, in which Mr Cod sits for 2 Days more..

Fish at best is a bit slimey, However this treatment makes the fish Gain volume over it's *original* size. It begins to resemble Jelly: Wobbly and squishy to the touch.

Yeah... Gnarly as it is, we're not done yet.

Your wobbly seudo-Jellyfish is now highly caustic, soaked with lye and tippin gthe PH scale at a fairly heady PH12. This you neautralise by - get this - soaking it in cold water for .. Yup. ANOTHER SIX DAYS.

After playing with floppy fish for two weeks, you're ready to cook it. Boiling it- not surprisingly - is one option..

It should be noted that the instant you're done cooking and *eating this stuff, it is recomended that you clean everything you've been using, asonce dried, it is nearly impossible to remove. Also, It iw well known that you should NEVER use silverware, as the Lutfisk will damage it permanently. -I'm not kidding.

Ok.. I say "eating" but you may choose to use a wide straw; such is the consistancy.

The taste is often descrbed as mild/mellow. A layman's translation of this would be "Tasteless" and "Soapy". After 14 days of soaking dried fish in water and lye, the end result is a tasteless fishy gelatinous-mush, with a slightly lumpy texture Which any discerning pig would avoid.

The thought (and memory) of it is actually making me wretch right now... I'd rather tongue a poodle's arse than eat that stuff again.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 14:15, Reply)
Pizza and Polystyrene
It wasn't until half way through eating the pizza and wondering why it felt chewy and springy that I realised I'd cooked it with the polystyrene base still attached.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 12:23, Reply)
Mixing It Up
My cousin had recently moved out of her parents house and invited the entire family over so she could cook for them and show off her new place. During the tour of the kitchen she was very proud of her brand new magimix food processery thingy which she said she'd used for the first time to make the dessert and it was the best thing she'd ever bought. Fast forward to said dessert; starter and main course had been great and much alcohol had been imbibed. With a 'tadaaaaah' she brings out a drool-inducing looking chocolate cake and cuts me a massive slice. I'm happily chowing down, talking with my mouth full when I notice my cousin take a bite with an odd crunching noise. Her face drops at exactly the same time as my Dad starts coughing.

After a few seconds we realise something is wrong as he's stood up, choking and trying to gasp for air. My uncle rushes round and gives him a couple of good heimlichs whereupon he spits out a large chunk of plastic. A very similar chunk to the one my cousin has just extracted from her mouth. As my Dad regains his breath and everyone tries to calm down my cousin bursts into tears. Between sobs she shares the realisation that her brand spanking new food mixer had plastic covers over the blades for safety which she'd forgot to remove. Rather than just making it shite at blending, as you'd presume, it was so powerful it blended them into the cake too. Yummy!

Everyone politely pushes their plates away and claims to be full anyway. At the sound of fork on crockery, everyone turns round at looks at me and my half finished slice of cake. In my drunken state I just shrug and eat another forkful before someone takes it off me. It tasted okay but it was a bugger coming out I can tell you.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 11:48, Reply)
at a party about a month back, my mate had a fridge full of mouldy food (no lie- the cheese was mouldy, chicken was mouldy... im supprised the lightbulb wasn't mouldy). so rather than experiment with the various life forms on display for their medicinal / hallucenogenic effects, we went to the shop and bought the classic fail-safe, idiot proof super noodles. starving, having eaten naught but a sandwhich all day, and having drank a few plastic cups of wine (we're sophisticated that way - wine!) i was ready to eat. trusting the others with the cooking, i played xbox for a bit. about 10 minutes later they come upstairs saying "...erm... theres been a bit of an accident". They had turned the supernoodles blue. i politely enquired how they had made this spectacular fuck up, to shakes of heads and "dunno"'s. Bastards. So, to compensate, i drunkenly raided the cupboards. i managed to find oats, butter and golden syrup. so, we attempted to make flapjacks. someone thought it was a good idea to put blue food colouring in the mix. incidently, thats why the supernoodles were blue, didn't want me having any so they turned them blue. anyway, cue giggling at our blue mixture, and the butter we had managed to turn blue for the guys mum to find when she gets back, we bunged it on a tray and into the oven.

What we wanted was Flapjacks

What we got resembled Smurf Genocide.
Didn't taste too bad, but neither do kebab scraps on the floor with enough drink.

we left it for him to find in the morning :)

Top off a top night by the guys pissing cat jumping on me for a cuddle at 6 in the fucking morning after a couple hours sleep.

Click "i like this" if you think cats are completely crap animals
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 11:12, Reply)
French food? Pah.
At age 14 or so we went on a school trip across the Channel that involved a stay with a French family for a couple of days. We were in pairs, and me and my mate were billeted with this pleasant enough working-class family somewhere near Rouen. The father was a butcher: when we remarked on the number of rabbits they had in cages in the garden, they pointed out that they were due for slaughter that weekend. Cute.

Anyway, they made a big song and dance about the meal they would serve us on the day we were due to leave: aside from rabbit (of course) there was a 'special surprise'. My friend (the wuss) refused to try either, but I enjoyed the rabbit and did at least try a mouthful of the surprise dish: a fist-sized grey ball, obviously meat on the outside but some sort of white-ish mush on the inside. It was pretty grim but I swallowed it, smiled and asked what it was.

They smiled back and told me, "It's sheep's brain wrapped in turkey meat."

Those sick French bastards will eat anything, I tell you.

By the by, when (somehow) I later found myself teaching English to French kids some years later, in the course of one particular lesson I would ask "Is anyone here a vegetarian?". Naturally (this being France) most of them didn't even know what a vegetarian was, and those few that did always said no. Then in one class a girl put up her hand and said yes. I was amazed, and asked her what sort of things she ate (I'm told it's not easy being a veggie in France). She replied, earnestly, "Well, I don't eat horse."

Close, ma chérie, mais pas de cigar.
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 10:46, Reply)
Mmm, twix.
Not me, but someone else (of course).

A few years back, we had a strange cantonese girl in our school boarding house whom, for the sake of humiliation, I shall call Utonia (mainly because that was her name).

She was in my Maths class all year, never spoke a word, just sort of silently answered questions and got everything right. No one really noticed her to be fair, until that dreaded, chocolatey night..

I had heard from other boarders that in the morning, they were given a choice of snack. Say, a twix. But Utonia wasn't hungry. She was saving it for later. Much later. But not to eat.

It isn't known if she had actually innocently mistook it to be a dildo or not, but she couldn't tell the difference. It was enough to make her wake up the other 5 girls who were sharing the dorm with her, enough for them to know exactly what she was doing. The other girls sat horrified, didn't dare say a word. Minutes passed, Utonia popped her head from under the duvet. All that work makes up an appetite eh? Wrapper comes off, munch munch munch.

Needless to say, she left a few weeks later. Shortly after the morning snack was changed to Curly wurly.

Length? She couldn't take much more, apparently.

*Post cherry popped*
(, Tue 22 May 2007, 15:21, Reply)
Worst Thing I've Ever Eaten.
Susan Pritchard after a five day festival.

Fresh fish anyone?

(, Sat 19 May 2007, 16:19, Reply)
Oh the horror
Being more than a bit interested in food I've eaten some "interesting" things. Tripe is just vile. Lutefisk (that Humpty dumpty talked about)is equally horrible. Us Norwegian fellows also enjoy a good sheep's head from time to time. But the worst food ever? Oh, that's Italian:

Imagine being treated to a lovely dinner at some Roman friends' house - salume, pasta, roast fish and seasonal vegs. Loads of wine. "All good, yes? You like food? You taste special food!"

So they bring me a small plate of something vaguely vegetable-like, white and (I stupidly think) firm. Olive oil and capers on top. I'm thinking "ooh they've saved a special treat for me, how nice". Did I see the insane glint in the eye of the Evil Cook? No.

I take the whole thing (size of a big walnut) and stuff it in my mouth, just to be attacked by nasty, horrible, evil fecking meaty jelly-like snot! It made me dizzy and sick, and all color drained from my face (I'm told). I just barely managed to swallow it like an oyster (another silly eat), before smiling gently and draining a cup of wine.

"What was that?" says I. "Is nerve from cow brain! Top of spinal cord! Very good for man to make love!" says the Italian bastard host.

So I've eaten nerve. I would have preferred Viagra.

And did I kick the cook in the face? No, I invited him to a traditional Norwegian meal. Oh yes, there will be sow's head, lye fish, sour cream porridge and all our other small specialties. He WILL eat the eye of a sheep.
(, Fri 18 May 2007, 22:47, Reply)
that reminds me
When I lived in jamaica (yawn, he always talks about jamaica after a few beers), I practically starved to death.
As a veggie in a country where veggie means you eat chicken but not goat, I struggled somewhat to get a healthy diet.
I was in a poor village that only had one shop that was only good for tins of fish or meat and some stale hard-dough bread (the only bread in the world that can go from fresh to mouldy in half a day).
Anyway, I survived due to the kindness of strangers and that way managed to get a meal at least every three days (it was a hell of a way to diet - I lost two stone whilst I was there and I wasn't a fat bastard before I went).
fruit and milky drinks made up most of my diet between meals.
only one time did I allow myself to get tempted by that old jamaican breakfast, rum with milk. Now this was with overproof rum, you can strip paint with it.
In my defense I was desperatly hungry and milk was about the best thing I could get, someone else was buying it and they slipped a shot of rum in it.
Within about two minutes I was pissed as a fart and giggling like a maniac.
After another two of these (they were strangly filling) we were all fucking hammered and talking utter shit.
Then my mate (who was going through the same thing as me) started arguing with me and acting almost violent. Being pissed up myself I told him to go fornicate with a goat or somesuch. Then, without a word of warning, he kicks me up the arse.
I felt a bit like Bishop Brennan from father ted and screamed "Why the fuck did you just kick me up the arse?"
His response was to sneer at me and then try and do a chinup on the roof struts of the bar.
As he lifted himself up his hands slipped and he fell about six foot onto his arse. Everyone laughed as he rolled around in pain (turned out later he'd fallen onto his tailbone). He staggered to his feet, made a rude gesture at everyone and then left the bar and got on his bike. He'd rode off majestically for about three feet, then hit a concrete step and flew of the front of the bike landing face first in the dirt.
After we stopped laughing we went and picked him up and carried him back into the bar. Parts of his face looked like squashed tomato. To help the pain we got him another rum and milk whilst we all laughed and took the piss.
Eventually we had to take him to hospital. On the way I checked the time to see it was only 9.30am.

Rum and milk, breakfast of champions.
(, Fri 18 May 2007, 0:38, Reply)
Germanic crap
A few years ago I was in a restaurant in Germany and ordered a sausage and chips (in german of course), so out it came.
The sausage was like a hot dog style one, and was about 90% water, just nasty!
But to top it off, it had apple sauce with it, and inside this sauce? yup you guessed it smarties.
What the fuck?!
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 14:05, Reply)
on my honeymoon in the states
i bought a bag of crisps, but being in the USA, it was absolutely massive, so i ate half that day, and put them aside for later.

The next evening me and the wife were sitting in our suite, so I got us some drinks and i grabbed the crisps to finish them off.

after a while of staring slack jawed at the telly, grazing on the crisps and getting slightly sloshed, i noticed my arm was very itchy, so i looked down as i scratched to see lots of ants crawling all over my arm and hand.

fearing the worst, i peeked into the bag to find hundred of the buggers swarming around what was left of my crisps - i reckon i must have eaten quite a few before i noticed :(
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 13:32, Reply)
they can fuck off
(, Thu 17 May 2007, 11:42, Reply)
Gherkins again
totally off topic, but I just found this on wikipedia

Running an electrical current through a gherkin will cause it to glow like a fluorescent light

how can anyone not like them when they can do that?
(, Wed 23 May 2007, 9:40, Reply)
Bad early 90's party
Long long ago, Me and my sidekick Robin (only resemblance to Batman I have ever had) went to an amazing party in Sunny Hull.
When we got there (1st!! - uber uncool) the guy whose house it was was dressed in a lime green spandex catsuit and was the spitting image of Nigel Tufnell from Spinal Tap. "come in", he announced.... "there's food", there was actually 3 cold pizzas and an industrial quantity of bombay mix sat next to the mountain of alcohol including a massive bowl of punch. "Nigel" then went upstairs as he wanted to "get ready for the party", apparently, dressing like a 70's rock star was something he did usually!
The pizzas were actually mouldy, but seeing as Bob n me had the mega-munchies we ate them as soon as the host with the most (we could see the bulge) went upstairs and then started on the bombay mix.
At this point a guy we knew had arrived pissed as a fart. When "Nigel" came back down (now dressed in a large black cardigan - go figure)we pointed to the comatose guy and blamed him for the pizzas. Nigel says "GREAT! I hate that tosser, I wanked on those about 10 mins before you came in!"
Robin and I managed to keep our composure and asked which one in particular got the spooge. It was the one with the olives on it. I hadn't touched that one, and Rob proceeded to throw up in the punch, then left swearing revenge.
"Nigel" then proceeded to get a sieve and another punch bowl, and strained Rob's spew out of it. The rest of the night was spent with me, twatted off my face, pissing myself every time someone had a glass of punch.
Rob got his own back, when he sneaked around to this guys house a few weeks later and wanked in one of his bottles of milk at 7 in the morning.
I later realised that this was a leaving party, and that "Nigel" would have been long gone by then, but to tell Rob this would've been akin to drowning his Mum in a swimming pool of cat-piss.
(, Sun 20 May 2007, 11:15, Reply)

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