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)
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)
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The Egg Man
In Casablanca you sometimes get bar hawkers selling raw eggs to go with your beer.
There I was, in a bit of a dodgy part of town, in a backstreet bar experiencing a bit of authentic Morrocan all day drinking action, with a table of new best pals. Anyway, in comes the egg man, dishevelled dirty looking bloke carrying a tray of eggs. Cue much back slapping and variants of 'come on, get an egg down you mate' in French and Arabic. My polite refusals cast aside, as the table insisted that I took an egg, or risk causing offence, and probably a good stabbing.
The egg man proceeded to prepare my egg, which had clearly been sitting in the heat of the sun for several days, he deftly cut off the top, sprinkled it with pepper and spices to disguise the greenish sulphorous yolk and handed it to me. Everyone else had one too, and then it was one, two, three and down the hatch all together.
Keeping it down was an effort. I just knew I was going to be ill as a result, it just tasted so, so, wrong, slimy gassy cabbbage oyster eggness.
Shat egg water for a week.
Length? Both long, and wide, for added pleasure.
( , Mon 21 May 2007, 13:07, Reply)
In Casablanca you sometimes get bar hawkers selling raw eggs to go with your beer.
There I was, in a bit of a dodgy part of town, in a backstreet bar experiencing a bit of authentic Morrocan all day drinking action, with a table of new best pals. Anyway, in comes the egg man, dishevelled dirty looking bloke carrying a tray of eggs. Cue much back slapping and variants of 'come on, get an egg down you mate' in French and Arabic. My polite refusals cast aside, as the table insisted that I took an egg, or risk causing offence, and probably a good stabbing.
The egg man proceeded to prepare my egg, which had clearly been sitting in the heat of the sun for several days, he deftly cut off the top, sprinkled it with pepper and spices to disguise the greenish sulphorous yolk and handed it to me. Everyone else had one too, and then it was one, two, three and down the hatch all together.
Keeping it down was an effort. I just knew I was going to be ill as a result, it just tasted so, so, wrong, slimy gassy cabbbage oyster eggness.
Shat egg water for a week.
Length? Both long, and wide, for added pleasure.
( , Mon 21 May 2007, 13:07, Reply)
« Go Back