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Worst food ever? (1 Viewer)

I love gefilte fish.  I sometimes buy it even when it isn't a holiday.  Throw on some super hot horseradish, it makes a great combo.  

That said, at both my family's holiday celebrations and my wife's family's holiday celebration, (both sides Jewish) I am the only one under 70 who eats gefilte fish, including a group of 8 adults between the age of 34 - 46 and 10 children between the ages of 5 - 15.
That's because it's so bad it ruins lives.

 
I honestly thought this was one of those "country-folk scaring the city slickers" type things.  

I didn't really think people ate them.  ?
I still remember the first time I had them.  Was on a pheasant hunting trip with a friend and staying with some of his family.  We fried up some of the pheasant we shot that day, kind of like popcorn chicken.  I noticed a few pieces looked the same but had a different consistency to them, they were mushy and the inside looked more like processed meat instead of real meat.  I kept eating it because it still tasted really good but suddenly someone asked me how the Rocky Mountain Oysters were.  I didn't know what to say or do but once I got the gross thought of what they really were out of my head I kept eating them because they tasted great.

 
I remember reading Bourdain's description of eating ortolan in "Medium Raw" and it was portrayed as this clandestine, illegal, yet almost orgasmic experience.  All I could think of as I was reading it was exactly how little desire I had to ever try it.  I'd rather have a Big Mac, in all seriousness.

An excerpt :

The flames in the cocottes burn down, and the Ortolans are distributed, one to each guest. Everyone at this table knows what to do and how to do it. We wait for the sizzling flesh and fat before us to quiet down a bit. We exchange glances and grins and then, simultaneously, we place our napkins over our heads, hiding our faces from God, and with burning fingertips lift our birds gingerly by their hot skulls, placing them feet-first into our mouths – only their heads and beaks protruding.

In the darkness under my shroud, I realize that in my eagerness to fully enjoy the experience, I’ve closed my eyes. First comes the skin and the fat. It’s hot. So hot that I’m drawing short, panicky, circular breaths in and out – like a high-speed trumpet player, breathing around the ortolan, shifting it gingerly around my mouth with my tongue so I don’t burn myself. I listen for the sounds of jaws against bone around me but hear only others breathing, the muffled hiss of rapidly moving air through teeth under a dozen linen napkins. There’s a vestigial flavor of Armagnac, low-hanging fumes of airborne fat particles, an intoxicating delicious miasma. Time goes by. Seconds? Moments? I don’t know. I hear the first snap of tiny bones from somewhere near and decide to brave it. I bring my molars down and through my bird’s rib cage with a wet crunch and am rewarded with a scalding hot rush of burning fat and guts down my throat. Rarely have pain and delight combined so well. I’m giddily uncomfortable, breathing in short, controlled gasps as I continue slowly – ever so slowly – to chew. With every bite, as the thin bones and layers of fat, meat, skin, and organs compact in on themselves, there are sublime dribbles of varied and wondrous ancient flavors: figs, Armagnac, dark flesh slightly infused with the salty taste of my own blood as my mouth is pricked by the sharp bones. As I swallow, I draw in the head and beak, which, until now, have been hanging from my lips, and blithely crush the skull.

 
I remember reading Bourdain's description of eating ortolan in "Medium Raw" and it was portrayed as this clandestine, illegal, yet almost orgasmic experience.  All I could think of as I was reading it was exactly how little desire I had to ever try it.  I'd rather have a Big Mac, in all seriousness.

An excerpt :

The flames in the cocottes burn down, and the Ortolans are distributed, one to each guest. Everyone at this table knows what to do and how to do it. We wait for the sizzling flesh and fat before us to quiet down a bit. We exchange glances and grins and then, simultaneously, we place our napkins over our heads, hiding our faces from God, and with burning fingertips lift our birds gingerly by their hot skulls, placing them feet-first into our mouths – only their heads and beaks protruding.

In the darkness under my shroud, I realize that in my eagerness to fully enjoy the experience, I’ve closed my eyes. First comes the skin and the fat. It’s hot. So hot that I’m drawing short, panicky, circular breaths in and out – like a high-speed trumpet player, breathing around the ortolan, shifting it gingerly around my mouth with my tongue so I don’t burn myself. I listen for the sounds of jaws against bone around me but hear only others breathing, the muffled hiss of rapidly moving air through teeth under a dozen linen napkins. There’s a vestigial flavor of Armagnac, low-hanging fumes of airborne fat particles, an intoxicating delicious miasma. Time goes by. Seconds? Moments? I don’t know. I hear the first snap of tiny bones from somewhere near and decide to brave it. I bring my molars down and through my bird’s rib cage with a wet crunch and am rewarded with a scalding hot rush of burning fat and guts down my throat. Rarely have pain and delight combined so well. I’m giddily uncomfortable, breathing in short, controlled gasps as I continue slowly – ever so slowly – to chew. With every bite, as the thin bones and layers of fat, meat, skin, and organs compact in on themselves, there are sublime dribbles of varied and wondrous ancient flavors: figs, Armagnac, dark flesh slightly infused with the salty taste of my own blood as my mouth is pricked by the sharp bones. As I swallow, I draw in the head and beak, which, until now, have been hanging from my lips, and blithely crush the skull.
Almost posted Ortolan in here several times.  Man, I miss Bourdain.

 
Almost posted Ortolan in here several times.  Man, I miss Bourdain.
Me too.  I have to admit, I never got the lure of this.  Forget about the nausea-inducing prospect of chewing through a whole bird - eyes, beak, bones and all - but then to have sharp bones puncturing the inside of your mouth, drawing enough blood to taste while it simultaneously pipes boiling oil and innards down your throat?  This sounds more like a prison punishment than a delicacy to me.

 
Salmon roe.  Not the cute little decor like sprinkles for sushi.  The big honking eggs that are like the bizarro skittles.  The weird texture.  the fishy taste.  Disgusting. 

I'd take fish eye, broccoli or haggis over that. 

 
Me too.  I have to admit, I never got the lure of this.  Forget about the nausea-inducing prospect of chewing through a whole bird - eyes, beak, bones and all - but then to have sharp bones puncturing the inside of your mouth, drawing enough blood to taste while it simultaneously pipes boiling oil and innards down your throat?  This sounds more like a prison punishment than a delicacy to me.
Oh, I agree.  But those paragraphs from Medium Raw burned a very graphic image in my head the moment I first read them.  In turn, I've disgusted many people by reciting that tale over the years but never nearly as eloquently as Bourdain did.

 
Oh, I agree.  But those paragraphs from Medium Raw burned a very graphic image in my head the moment I first read them.  In turn, I've disgusted many people by reciting that tale over the years but never nearly as eloquently as Bourdain did.
Me too, considering I actually remembered the name of the bird and immediately went to find an excerpt from that chapter as soon as I decided to post about it. 

 
I honestly thought this was one of those "country-folk scaring the city slickers" type things.  

I didn't really think people ate them.  ?
I don't think I could.  For some reason I often some weird uncomfortable feeling in my groin area when I hear about or see other people getting hurt in the ####.  I can only imagine that I would keel  over if I knew I was biting into one.  Just typing that makes me very queasy and lightheaded.

 
I don't think I could.  For some reason I often some weird uncomfortable feeling in my groin area when I hear about or see other people getting hurt in the ####.  I can only imagine that I would keel  over if I knew I was biting into one.  Just typing that makes me very queasy and lightheaded.
Oh for god's sake, T E S T I C L E S is a banned word?

 
I don't hate liver in small doses. 

Cottage cheese, though, absolutely grosses me out. I think various types of offal are a bit much, too. 

And there is a lot of food in this thread that sounds absolutely terrible and a relic of starvation conditions past. Too many to list, actually. 

And lobster, though I love it, used to be considered prison food in colonial times, according to David Foster Wallace. Cockroaches of the sea.  

 
Really need to be specific when it comes to Liver

Calves liver is absolutely vile and a strong contender for the title of worst food ever 

Chicken livers aren't awful

Foie Gras is god's gift to the offal eating masses 

 
Anyone ever have bierkase cheese?  It's one of the most foul smelling cheeses I've ever had.  Most people can't stand the taste either.  I can handle it but I don't go out of my way to have it.

Chicken gizzards and just about any pickled meats are one's I can think of that I don't mind but most people hate.

 
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 has anyone ever had poopbarf it is a plate of poop and barf and brohans it is not all that good take that to the bank bromigos 

 
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They were talking on the radio earlier about some restaurant in chicago that has a line out the door all the time and their best dish was Pig's face. WTF?

 
Riced cauliflower.
Awful stuff but worse than the vile stuff is the recipe claiming “You’ll never miss rice again!”

Bull####! I tried a recipe for fried rice made with riced cauliflower and it was disgusting. Same goes for those pasta dishes made with zoodles. #### you, I want my pasta because zoodles suck

 

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