Terrible foodBack 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]
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chthonic, Thu 17 May 2007, 10:23)
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this veil of bitter vegetables .....Many years ago (1989 to be precise) my polytechnic decided that a class trip to Prague was in order. Given that I am a vegetarian and times was hard back then for this struggling country, various souls had forewarned me that it would be as well to include a stash of foody goodness within my luggage, to stave off the otherwise certain starvation that would befall me due to the non-availablity of fresh fruit and vegetables.
Sure enough, I had good cause to thank them for their wisdom. As my carnivorous classmates would happily chow down their greasy chunks of fried pork or somesuch, I would inevitably be presented with a meagre plate of peas and carrot, pickled to shrivellous extinction.
Unfortunately, my imagination had not extended much beyond museli bars and cup-a-soups, so by the end of the trip, I was in a near hallucinatory state of craving for culinary deliciousness. Imagine my delight when we stumbled serendipitously upon a restaurant of such grandeur and magnificence that I was in no doubt that gustatory nirvana could not but lie ahead. Our ravening hoard piled within and one of my more linguistically able classmates explained my omnivourous inclinations to a smiling waiter. He listened attentively and assured her that chef would be delighted to prepare a suitable and delicious repast.
In due course, plate after plate of exquisitely prepared, gourmet meals were presented flourishingly to my delighted classmates, while I waited with increasing impatience and excitement for the feast that would be mine. My fevered imagination went into overdrive as it speculated on the infinite number of possible responses by the chef to the challenge.
Eventually when everyone else had been served, the doors from the kitchen swung open for the final time. The beaming waiter appeared and strode towards me with the collective honour and pride of the restaurant in his bearing and visage and set before me ..... a plate of pickled peas and carrots.
Oh the vinegary sourness. I can still taste it to this day, even over the bitterness of my disappoinment.
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 5:09, Reply)
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