That was the most horrific thing I've ever tasted!
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I don't know about you, but I love me some black coffee.
And never never NEVER eat a raw river fish you caught.
And never never NEVER eat a raw river fish you caught.
Went to a restaurant and ordered spaghetti with meatballs. I expected your everyday delicious meat sauce with meatballs with spaghetti noodles. Instead the sauce taste like fucking cinnamon was thrown into it. I later found out that it was in fact cinnamon, with a few other strange ingredients in it. Now normally I don't mind cinnamon, but in spaghetti? I'm sorry, I don't usually complain at restaurants, but that made me rage and demand my money back.
Also there's buttermilk... I have no idea what possessed me to take a swig of that but I want it dead.
Also there's buttermilk... I have no idea what possessed me to take a swig of that but I want it dead.
I once took the jug of milk out of the fridge and took a big, long pull. Of course, I wouldn't be putting it in this thread if the milk hadn't gone completely sour.
I didn't swallow any, and managed to spit it all out, probably just in time to avert tragedy. I've thrown up once in the last fifteen years, but I came reeeeeal close that time.
As for food that's ostensibly 'edible,' I was at the sushi bar and decided to try salmon roe for the first. I managed to choke down one bite; otherwise it was a waste of four dollars. It tasted, for lack of a kinder description, like a dead, rotted fish **** putrefying in its own slime.
This IS NOT an invitation to tell me how much you enjoy it, or that it's an 'acquired taste' and that I just don't 'appreciate' it. If you ate your own feces for a few months, you'd probably get used to that, too.
Same goes for this sort of... Hell, let me tell the whole story. The whole night was something I'd ONLY admit to anonymously on the Internet.
So it's February of this year, and I've just gotten my tax return back, about $1000. I decided to call up my brother and take him out to eat, just to celebrate and spend some time with him; he's not too well off, so I thought it'd be nice to treat him to a nice meal at the sushi bar.
So we get there and it's closed. Apparently, they don't open on Sunday. I don't know why; seems like they could make a good deal of money on Sunday. It'll make even less sense in a second. So that's out. But right down the street is a fairly new Thai restaurant, a bit upper-scale, and we get the idea to go there instead. I guess we both still had 'sushi' on the brain rather than just trying to find a good restaurant, because I'd been there once before and had sworn NEVER to go back. I learned not to second-guess myself.
So, we get there and the place is packed to bursting. Luckily, they had one table just open up and we get in. We're kind of wondering about how busy the place is, then it hits us: It's St. Valentine's Day. And as we're sitting down to a candlelit table, the awful realization hits us: Everyone there thinks we're a gay couple.
We don't know whether to laugh or cry. Everything we say to the waitress or to each other seems to take on an unintentionally homoerotic subtext. We feel really self-conscious, and we realize we've pretty much been pwnt by fate at this point, but we're hungry so we look through the menu. Now, I warn my brother that the sushi here is awful and is pretty much just offered to make them look hipper than they are. But he decides to get some anyway, you know, since I'm paying, and we eventually decide on something.
This takes forever, because they have about the most poorly arranged menu I've ever seen, and half the stuff on it is not actually served there. It's like they cobbled together a few other Thai restaurant's menus, never edited it, and only served what they knew how to make. I settle on some sushi as an appetizer, and I get some sort of green curry lobster soup with miso soup course before it. I guess having a soup course before a soup entree was a bit of an odd choice, but it turned out to work in my favor. I don't remember what my brother got. I think it was some kind of seafood and noodle dish. I've slowly blocked out most of this night.
So we, the finicky gay brothers, finally get our food and it's all horrible. The sushi, as predicted, is like sushi you'd find in a gas station cooler, which is all the more embarrassing considering they had the benefit of making it fresh and it still tasted like how good sushi tastes when it's been in the fridge for three days. We eat the stuff off the top of it, which is, sadly, the best part of it, and ignore the rest of it. Brother's stuff is average at best, meaning it was the most edible of our meals. If it had been about eight dollars cheaper than it had been I wouldn't have considered it a total failure.
But mine took the cake, though. They brought out everything at the same time, which is a pretty noticeable gaffe when you've obviously ordered your meal in courses: appetizer, soup/salad, and entree all come out at the same time. So by the time we got through however much of the sushi as we could stomach and a good bit of my miso soup, our entrees had cooled considerably.
Like I said, my brother's was not bad, even if it was outrageously overpriced. But mine was just horrible. I thought I knew what I was getting, but that green curry slime was some of the most offensively distasteful stuff i have ever tasted. I choked down about three spoons full of the curry in an attempt to salvage something of a dish that cost me $23. I completely gave up on that, and started fishing out the lobster and eating it by itself. But to no avail; there was barely enough lobster in it to justify saying the dish contained it (and raising the price accordingly), and what little there was had been steeped in that green curry so long that the lobster's sweet, mild flavor was completely overwritten by the combined talents of coconut milk and vomit.
So I go back to eating my miso soup, which is actually not bad. But I can't, in good conscience, give the restaurant any credit for that; miso soup is about as simple a dish as you can get, and a joint that couldn't adequately prepare a dish with about four ingredients and no prep couldn't have been in business in the first place. Luckily, bro had been getting full and I was able to scavenge some of his seafood stuff, too.
Now, I was a picky eater for most of my childhood, so I figured maybe my biased palate was just screwing the pooch for me. But my brother is a chef, and a damn good one, familiar with the preparation and dining upon of a huge array of foods the world over, and had spent a good amount of time working for and with Asians and their food, so I decided to go defer to his judgment, just in some last ditch effort to force myself to like it and justify the price tag. So he takes one sip of it, closes his eyes, shakes his head, and makes a face like he'd been stabbed. Nope, it wasn't just me; I had just gotten a bizarre dish that probably isn't even well regarded in the culture that it comes from.
What sucked worse was that I can't really claim that every single awful event of that night wasn't squarely on my shoulders. I wanted to go out, I picked the restaurant, I ordered the curry from hell, and I was paying. Paying a lot. Unfortunately, our waitress was excellent, fast and attentive, and spoke English just incompetently enough to be cute and ethnic but just well enough to get the orders straight. And my brother, being in the restaurant industry, gets very testy around poor tips. So I end up giving twenty percent. The ticket is more than fifty dollars in total. That's as much as I'm willing to pay for food I adore, but this? This hurt. When I say I'm never going back there, I mean I'm never going back there for anything that doesn't involve me getting to use an automatic weapon.
So, as we duck out of the restaurant, we agree to just head back to his apartment and put it out of our minds. We swear never to admit the events of St. Valentine's Day 2010 ever occurred. If you asked me in person, I'd act like I didn't know what you were talking about. Back at his apartment, he starts getting trashed on bourbon and Coke, like most nights, which probably went a long way towards making up for the night and killing the brain cells that contain that memory. But I'm a teetotaler. I've just got to deal with it.
I didn't swallow any, and managed to spit it all out, probably just in time to avert tragedy. I've thrown up once in the last fifteen years, but I came reeeeeal close that time.
As for food that's ostensibly 'edible,' I was at the sushi bar and decided to try salmon roe for the first. I managed to choke down one bite; otherwise it was a waste of four dollars. It tasted, for lack of a kinder description, like a dead, rotted fish **** putrefying in its own slime.
This IS NOT an invitation to tell me how much you enjoy it, or that it's an 'acquired taste' and that I just don't 'appreciate' it. If you ate your own feces for a few months, you'd probably get used to that, too.
Same goes for this sort of... Hell, let me tell the whole story. The whole night was something I'd ONLY admit to anonymously on the Internet.
So it's February of this year, and I've just gotten my tax return back, about $1000. I decided to call up my brother and take him out to eat, just to celebrate and spend some time with him; he's not too well off, so I thought it'd be nice to treat him to a nice meal at the sushi bar.
So we get there and it's closed. Apparently, they don't open on Sunday. I don't know why; seems like they could make a good deal of money on Sunday. It'll make even less sense in a second. So that's out. But right down the street is a fairly new Thai restaurant, a bit upper-scale, and we get the idea to go there instead. I guess we both still had 'sushi' on the brain rather than just trying to find a good restaurant, because I'd been there once before and had sworn NEVER to go back. I learned not to second-guess myself.
So, we get there and the place is packed to bursting. Luckily, they had one table just open up and we get in. We're kind of wondering about how busy the place is, then it hits us: It's St. Valentine's Day. And as we're sitting down to a candlelit table, the awful realization hits us: Everyone there thinks we're a gay couple.
We don't know whether to laugh or cry. Everything we say to the waitress or to each other seems to take on an unintentionally homoerotic subtext. We feel really self-conscious, and we realize we've pretty much been pwnt by fate at this point, but we're hungry so we look through the menu. Now, I warn my brother that the sushi here is awful and is pretty much just offered to make them look hipper than they are. But he decides to get some anyway, you know, since I'm paying, and we eventually decide on something.
This takes forever, because they have about the most poorly arranged menu I've ever seen, and half the stuff on it is not actually served there. It's like they cobbled together a few other Thai restaurant's menus, never edited it, and only served what they knew how to make. I settle on some sushi as an appetizer, and I get some sort of green curry lobster soup with miso soup course before it. I guess having a soup course before a soup entree was a bit of an odd choice, but it turned out to work in my favor. I don't remember what my brother got. I think it was some kind of seafood and noodle dish. I've slowly blocked out most of this night.
So we, the finicky gay brothers, finally get our food and it's all horrible. The sushi, as predicted, is like sushi you'd find in a gas station cooler, which is all the more embarrassing considering they had the benefit of making it fresh and it still tasted like how good sushi tastes when it's been in the fridge for three days. We eat the stuff off the top of it, which is, sadly, the best part of it, and ignore the rest of it. Brother's stuff is average at best, meaning it was the most edible of our meals. If it had been about eight dollars cheaper than it had been I wouldn't have considered it a total failure.
But mine took the cake, though. They brought out everything at the same time, which is a pretty noticeable gaffe when you've obviously ordered your meal in courses: appetizer, soup/salad, and entree all come out at the same time. So by the time we got through however much of the sushi as we could stomach and a good bit of my miso soup, our entrees had cooled considerably.
Like I said, my brother's was not bad, even if it was outrageously overpriced. But mine was just horrible. I thought I knew what I was getting, but that green curry slime was some of the most offensively distasteful stuff i have ever tasted. I choked down about three spoons full of the curry in an attempt to salvage something of a dish that cost me $23. I completely gave up on that, and started fishing out the lobster and eating it by itself. But to no avail; there was barely enough lobster in it to justify saying the dish contained it (and raising the price accordingly), and what little there was had been steeped in that green curry so long that the lobster's sweet, mild flavor was completely overwritten by the combined talents of coconut milk and vomit.
So I go back to eating my miso soup, which is actually not bad. But I can't, in good conscience, give the restaurant any credit for that; miso soup is about as simple a dish as you can get, and a joint that couldn't adequately prepare a dish with about four ingredients and no prep couldn't have been in business in the first place. Luckily, bro had been getting full and I was able to scavenge some of his seafood stuff, too.
Now, I was a picky eater for most of my childhood, so I figured maybe my biased palate was just screwing the pooch for me. But my brother is a chef, and a damn good one, familiar with the preparation and dining upon of a huge array of foods the world over, and had spent a good amount of time working for and with Asians and their food, so I decided to go defer to his judgment, just in some last ditch effort to force myself to like it and justify the price tag. So he takes one sip of it, closes his eyes, shakes his head, and makes a face like he'd been stabbed. Nope, it wasn't just me; I had just gotten a bizarre dish that probably isn't even well regarded in the culture that it comes from.
What sucked worse was that I can't really claim that every single awful event of that night wasn't squarely on my shoulders. I wanted to go out, I picked the restaurant, I ordered the curry from hell, and I was paying. Paying a lot. Unfortunately, our waitress was excellent, fast and attentive, and spoke English just incompetently enough to be cute and ethnic but just well enough to get the orders straight. And my brother, being in the restaurant industry, gets very testy around poor tips. So I end up giving twenty percent. The ticket is more than fifty dollars in total. That's as much as I'm willing to pay for food I adore, but this? This hurt. When I say I'm never going back there, I mean I'm never going back there for anything that doesn't involve me getting to use an automatic weapon.
So, as we duck out of the restaurant, we agree to just head back to his apartment and put it out of our minds. We swear never to admit the events of St. Valentine's Day 2010 ever occurred. If you asked me in person, I'd act like I didn't know what you were talking about. Back at his apartment, he starts getting trashed on bourbon and Coke, like most nights, which probably went a long way towards making up for the night and killing the brain cells that contain that memory. But I'm a teetotaler. I've just got to deal with it.
You think that's bad? The durian fruit: bane of Singapore's Mass Transit System due only to it's odor.(It smells like Death himself died and festered for a couple weeks)
A friend of mine got a smoothie from some Asian market around my town made from the durian fruit. Imagine if Satan had busted a nut and blended it together with some ice and spoiled onions and you have the general idea of the consistency and taste of that smoothie. I once (accidentally) drank some rubbing alcohol and would gladly scour my insides again to escape even the thought of enduring another durian smoothie.
But on the plus side, I tricked about 5 people into also drinking some... but it is a cold comfort.
For me its a toss-up between castor oil (its a medecine) and liver.
castor oil is colorless and odorless .. until u put it in your mouth then it taste like... a kitten beat to death using a toddler till this day if i burp deep enough i can still taste it and its been years since i took any
and liver is the only thing in my life that has instantly caused me to vomit its also the 1st thing to cause me to vomit that i can remember and it caused the most amout of vomit to escape my body at one time
castor oil is colorless and odorless .. until u put it in your mouth then it taste like... a kitten beat to death using a toddler till this day if i burp deep enough i can still taste it and its been years since i took any
and liver is the only thing in my life that has instantly caused me to vomit its also the 1st thing to cause me to vomit that i can remember and it caused the most amout of vomit to escape my body at one time
Have you ever seen somebody lick the chutney spoon in an Indian Restaurant and put it back? This would never have happened under the Tories.KingTeabag said:
I went to a Coke-a-Cola factory/museum and they had a place where you could try all the different coke products from a round the world. Most of them aren't too bad then we try one I don't remember it's name but I want to say it was from either France of Africa, but my friend and I tried it and it tasted like some one had taken a shit in my Sprite, my reactions were equally hilarious.
Most horrific thing iv'e ever eaten would have to be these tablets I was perscribed to get rid of a chest infection. They were too big to swallow so they had to be chewed, the taste....well I don't think I can describe them without risking the banhammer but errrrrrrrrgh they were bad.
All nighters have shown me to always make my beverages myself. Especially after someone offered to make me a cup of tea.
They made it, gave it to me, I took a sip and then looked at said beverage. The bastards had made a cup of tea.
With Chilli, Pepper, Salt, Pineapple Salsa, Curry Powder and a dash of milk.
They made it, gave it to me, I took a sip and then looked at said beverage. The bastards had made a cup of tea.
With Chilli, Pepper, Salt, Pineapple Salsa, Curry Powder and a dash of milk.