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Worst meal at someone's home - Part 1


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This might be the right place to get help identifying the worst dessert I ever had. It was in Egypt, at a really nice hotel in Cairo. It looked like a parfait, with white creamy stuff and red liquid stuff. I'd been warned about eating strange foods, but was never very good at listening. The red liquid tasted like aftershave. I kept trying it, thinking it couldn't be as bad as I thought...but it still was.

Any ideas?

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  I'd been warned about eating strange foods,

are you kidding? who "warned" you and why on earth

would you listen to such a closed minded attitude?

how would you ever try anything new if you took this advice,

though of course, you will never like all the new things you

try you may find some new favorites.

:wacko:

(sorry if you were kidding, i seem to be humour impaired right now)

the red liquid may have been syrup or similar flavored

with rose essence or kewra or other flower essence.

These flavors are popular in the Middle East and South Asia....

Milagai

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Oh, they had warned me because people can get sick eating the wrong thing in Egypt. At dinner one night I ate one brussels sprout that was a tad undercooked and got seriously ill. Driving across the desert into Israel, there are certain illnesses that are not pleasant...

(Okay, that sentence made it sound like the illness was driving across the desert, but I'm too tired to correct it.)

It wasn't rose water. I'm guessing some sort of liquor or liqueur, but can't imagine what would taste so horrendous.

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My worst meal was at a friends home where my fiance and I were spending the weekend, visiting.  Dinner the first night was a small bowl of "si ji dou"  - green beans with garlic and ginger - delicious, but only enough for one person.  There were three of us.  A pot of rice.  Water.  I realized as I went to bed that night my stomach felt funny, cramping -  I was hungry!!

What was our host thinking?

My great aunt once served a soup for a main dish at her house (she is known for being stingy and always taking leftovers home from someone else's house) and my other aunt said there were about 2 T. of soup in each bowl, and my uncle claimed to have chased a bean around the bowl for about half an hour!

"Many people believe the names of In 'n Out and Steak 'n Shake perfectly describe the contrast in bedroom techniques between the coast and the heartland." ~Roger Ebert

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My Step-Grandmother also was somewhat stingy. When people drop by in Ireland it is customary that all Irish Grannies, aunts, great aunts etc, try to feed you to death, they simply will not accept or try to comprend a refusal of another sandwhich or bun. This Grannie was the exception. A wealthy lady so it was not a money thing. She would come in and ask everyone exactly how many sandwiches, biscuts or buns etc. they though they might want, so she wouldn't risk putting out to much. The worst thing was any food that she did serve was typically so stale you could bounce it off the walls!!!

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This is, singularly, the most fantastic thread on eGullet. I simply could not pull myself away from the train wrecks, and am having trouble determining which inspired more salivating (the bad kind).

I think the maggoty mushrooms may be the hands-down winner for sheer grotesque quality, but I cannot get over the number of posts describing the world's worst hosts.

I come from an Italian/Scottish background, so we are all about the hospitality. My god, we would starve before taking the food off a guest's plate. Horrendous!

Thanks to all of you for sharing these stories. Hosting a dinner party will never be the same again, and may I never turn up anywhere on here as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

:biggrin:

Jennifer L. Iannolo

Founder, Editor-in-Chief

The Gilded Fork

Food Philosophy. Sensuality. Sass.

Home of the Culinary Podcast Network

Never trust a woman who doesn't like to eat. She is probably lousy in bed. (attributed to Federico Fellini)

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  • 4 weeks later...

A return to this thread conjured up a dish from prep school. It was called "Elephant Scabs."

It cosisted of a breaded chicken-like patty about the size of a dinner plate which would be topped with a laddle of melted Velveta and a smaller ladle full of tomato sauce. It looked like its name. It was often the alternative choice to liver and onions. I won't even begin that trip to the culinary morgue.

**************************************************

Ah, it's been way too long since I did a butt. - Susan Fahning aka "snowangel"

--------------------

One summers evening drunk to hell, I sat there nearly lifeless…Warren

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I know that my story will never top some of the others here, but it's been almost 2 years since mine happened and I still can't forget it - so I decided to write it down.

Visiting an old friend who married a N. Carolinian. We don't see each other very often and when we do, we usually end up eating in restaurants. But now it's New Year's Eve 2003 and they have people over.

Around noon we get ready to prep the turkey and I offer to take care of it - not to brag, but I can make a pretty good turkey (I also know that my friend has never learned how to cook from her mother). I use the cheesecloth/melted butter method and when I ask for cheesecloth I'm asked what that is. They have butter but it turns out it's actually margarine. We'll have to make a run to the supermarket and buy cheesecloth and butter so we decide that my friend and I will go speed-shopping while the male host gets a grill going for lunch.

The shopping took a little longer than expected because I couldn't find the needed cheesecloth and none of the employees knew what I'm talking about. I'm ready to give up and just baste the turkey like everybody else when on my way out I find the item hanging from those multi-hooks between two sections. Happy, we get home and find the turkey in the oven already.

I'm dumbfounded but he's the host, so there's nothing to say or do. He proudly shows me a rack of spices that he used: half-gallon jugs of you-name-it spice mixtures of obscure brand, some 30 bottles at least. He wasn't sure what he used. It doesn't matter at this point so we go ahead and have lunch.

A plethora of meats and smoked sausages, all burnt down to black and dry as jerky. Of course the reason being that you can't work a grill in the garage and prep a turkey (the 2nd floor kitchen) at the same time.

No problem, we all had our share of dried up grilled meat, you just get to chew a little longer.

Sides for the turkey were to be provided by the cook's sister-in-law so we had a whole afternoon to rest and get ready for the party.

Going fast-forward, at around 9 p.m. I find out that the turkey is still in the oven. I worry that it might be overdone but I get a reassuring wink from the cook, telling me that it's practically impossible. Besides, the guests would be there in less than an hour so the time for the turkey to come out is near. Hey, I'm always open to learning something new and a method of not overcooking a turkey for over 8 hours is intriguing.

The sides arrive and they are a baked bean casserole and a huge platter (I'd guess supermarket bought) of crudites, plus a six pack of beer. Another guest brings the cake (definitely supermarket bought), good old chocolate cake (really, it had a Christmas tree decoration on it) and a bottle of Asti Spumante. We had provided the appetizers, cold cuts shlepped from my neighborhood, a special request from the hosts. We also brought a couple of bottles of Cerdon de Bugey, dreaming of mimosas by the fireplace for New Year's Day brunch. Turns out a bottle of Asti is not enough for 8 people to toast at midnight so mimosas were forgotten. No biggie.

So, I guess some of you can't wait to hear the turkey secret. Alright, the moment of truth has come. It has been injected with ketchup. Generously. When sliced, red rivers have oozed out, making decorative and colorful streaks of sauce, flowing liberally over the stringy meat.

Thanks sis-in-law for the veggies. No dip, it looked like it had flour in it.

The human mouth is called a pie hole. The human being is called a couch potato... They drive the food, they wear the food... That keeps the food hot, that keeps the food cold. That is the altar where they worship the food, that's what they eat when they've eaten too much food, that gets rid of the guilt triggered by eating more food. Food, food, food... Over the Hedge
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I went on an exchange trip to the Netherlands back in high school (in the oh-so-fashionable 80s) and my host family prepared what they told me was going to be the best meal of my lifetime.

It was a fish.  A raw fish.  Scale-less, but head and eyeballs still intact.  Staring at me pitifully from the brown pfaltzgraff-looking plate.  I politely waited for my hosts to start so I'd know what to do with the thing.  They smeared its head with mayonnaise and then cut off the head and ate it.  Bones and all.  Crunched away.  The sound of it made my mouth water in that not-so-good way, so I excused myself and ran to the bathroom.  After a round of dry heaves, I returned to the table, where they had all finished their fish and had store-bought chocolate mousse for dessert.  I ate that and excused myself and went to bed.  During one of our educational sessions the next day, I snuck out to their local version of McD's and ate about 14 metric tons of french fries.

Funny... the rest of our meals during that stay were in local restaurants.

:laugh: Hahaha.. that would be a treat to remember.. Comes to think of the Norveigian restaurant where they boil whole fresh cods and then keeps the head which they serve and then they throw away the rest of the fish.

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So, I guess some of you can't wait to hear the turkey secret. Alright, the moment of truth has come. It has been injected with ketchup. Generously. When sliced, red rivers have oozed out, making decorative and colorful streaks of sauce, flowing liberally over the stringy meat.

:laugh:

This has got to be one of my favourite threads on Egullet. Thankfully, I have nothing yet to contribute.

If I had to pick a "worst", it would be these rock hard "cinnamon biscuits" that an ex made me for breakfast a few years ago. He didn't use a recipe--it was basically just a lot of flour, some cinnamon, a bit of sugar, and not nearly enough butter. Very dry tasting....but it's the thought that counted, so I was still appreciative. I managed to choke a couple of those biscuits down but it wasn't until YEARS later that I told him how bad they were! :laugh:

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Steven started a topic about the best meal he's ever had in someone's home (I was there and I have to agree with him on his selection)--I, on the other hand, would like to hear the horror stories of the worst meals people have had in someone's home. No need to name names--but I'm sure we've all been there.

This is easy my mother's Cooking! One example

A Frozen box of filet fish more like rubberized fish broiled with mother's margarine and egg scrambled with frozen onions on top.

Spagetti with it on the side. Made by cooking the spagetti in cold water until 20 minutes then sits there because she forgot,drained off with a half a stick of mother's bitter unsalted margarine and a can of plain tomato sauce.

Really wins the prize for the worst think you ever tasted and survived to tell the story!!!!!!

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  • 2 weeks later...

It was a meatloaf, 40 years ago ... I was a mere child and no food snob (yet), but I still recall with fresh revulsion and astonishment the worst meal of my life. I was a guest for dinner at the house of a playmate of mine. I don't remember if there was a side dish, all I recall is the meatloaf. This was not my Midwest mother's hamburger-egg-saltines-topped-with-Heinz-ketchup and baked to produce brown, firm slices meatloaf. No. This meatloaf was a mishapen lump of gray. I don't mean brownish gray, I mean grey gray. Then there was the texture -- somehow gummy and gristly and soggy all at once. Its surface was pocked with numerous little pools of watery fat. The flavor, if you could call it that, was something akin to rancid dishwater. No presence of salt.

I remember eyeing the meatloaf as it was presented to me with some suspicion, but at that tender age I had yet to encounter something truly inedible. I came from a family of good cooks. So despite its unappetizing look, I took a trusting bite ... I gagged. And then I looked around me in disbelief and wonder as the rest of the family -- mother, father, two children -- casually devoured their meatloaf. As though it were normal food. I couldn't spit the meatloaf out, I was too polite for that, but I certainly wasn't going to risk swallowing it. I pretended to cough and spit the vile mouthful into my napkin. I spent the rest of the meal clutching my squishy napkin and pushing uneaten bites around the plate, wondering what planet I had suddenly stumbled onto.

Afterwards, I asked my friend, trying not to sound judgmental, if he had truly liked the meatloaf. I was trying to get a fix on food standards. "Of course I liked it, why wouldn't I?" he said, defensively. "But it was so ... so awful," I said, bewildered. "My mother said you were rude," he replied. "She says you think you're too good for her cooking."

Edited by Steven Blaski (log)
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  • 1 month later...

Oh, it should have been so simple, if you looked at the directions. My freshman year of college, my girlfriend at the time had gotten a new apartment and decided she wanted to cook for me. Considering she had the culinary IQ of a monkey with a lobotomy, I normally did the cooking as to avoid any, shall we say, incidents. When she would have these insane thoughts of actually cooking, my survival instinct would kick in and I'd usually give her a "that's ok, I appreciate the thought, but why go through the trouble?" This time, she insisted and I caved. This is the person that thought Gourmet food came from the Budget Gourmet, so how bad could it be? Oh, if I'd only known.

So out comes the bag of Chicken Voila, which if you read the directions, you can't screw up, or so I thought. First of all, she didn't catch the "Just add chicken" labeling on the front, so this would turn out to be just Voila. Now, I'm sure Voila is supposed to taste like something other than bait, but I'll never know. So there was this bag of veggies and sauce to be heated, which should have been an easy enough task. Oh no, not for her! She decided to (and considering this was Emeril's old stomping grounds, I'll allow the reference) kick it up a notch. I'd rather she kicked me in the nuts. She added this mixture of spices that felt like I had eaten alum. Mind you, I wasn't allowed in the kitchen during this fiasco, so I don't exactly know what she put inside, but my digestive system began to churn from the first bite. I got through about a quarter of it and made the made dash to the bathroom.

After I emerge from paying homage to the folks at American Standard, she wanted to know what was wrong. I just asked if this was supposed to have chicken in it. The response I got was "No wonder it tasted funny!" Maybe it was the lack of chicken, maybe it was the toxic conglomoration of spices she decided to add. We'll never know. However, as I was not feeling well, I excused myself, went home, and vowed to never let her cook for me again.

Now, the ironic part. This was hotel school, and now she's a kitchen manager at a Macaroni Grill! And my friends wonder why I avoid the place like the plague.

And I can't imagine why I'm now engaged to a fellow foodie! :biggrin:

"What garlic is to food, insanity is to art." ~ Augustus Saint-Gaudens

The couple that eGullets together, stays together!

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I thankfully have had no really horrible dinners at homes; my friends seem to all know how to cook! But my parents have one...

Back when dad was a grad student and mom was a housewife and I was just a lustful thought in my dad's brain, they went and visited his parents. They had been living on spam and beans and noodles for a year or so, so when they got there, they were thrilled when my grandfather brought out some huge thick steaks from a really good butcher in town. As dinner time neared, dad said "do you need any help? Lighting the grill or something?" Grandpa said "No, mother has her own way of doing it."

"Mother's way" was thus: Dredge steaks in flour, fry the life out of them, then throw in more flourand milk over that to make a white gravy. Mom said she nearly cried...

Another friend of mine got invited to a Turkish friend's place for dinner. He was a bit nuts. They were really hungry; they hadn't eaten in anticipation of dinner because they had heard about Turkish food.

When dinner was served, it was: A bowl of roasted chickpeas, a bowl of peanuts, and a bowl of (really) raw oats. "It's very healthy" said Yilmaz as he dug in. They ended up ordering pizza...

"Los Angeles is the only city in the world where there are two separate lines at holy communion. One line is for the regular body of Christ. One line is for the fat-free body of Christ. Our Lady of Malibu Beach serves a great free-range body of Christ over angel-hair pasta."

-Lea de Laria

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  • 1 month later...

I was hoping not to have to add to this thread but.... I had a dinner that was not only truly bad, but one of the dishes SO mystified me that it has kept me up late at night since that dinner wondering what on earth it was.........

(don't ask me to ask the host what it was - I just can't face that!)

The first course was a buckwheat bread mixed with rice balls made with idly flour and RAW caraway. Medicinal beyond belief..... thank goodness, there were some nice olives there as well. The main course was undercooked pan-cooked lambs hearts, which were served with pallid potatoes, rock hard chestnuts and uncleaned squash (well, the seeds were removed, but none of the stringy stuff!). A symphony of beige, which narrowly avoid shooting off the plate as I tried to cut into those rock-hard hearts....

So far, I had struggled through the meal and had finished what was on my plate...but the horrors of dessert lay in wait - and herein lies my question.

We were served what looked like (and tasted like) a bowl of mashed potatoes flavoured with lashings (and I mean lashings) of rosewater, decorated with....banana chips. :shock:

It was unbearable - I tried to eat it. I really really tried. Really really really. It was like perfumed wallpaper paste....

To my embarassment, I had to give up (rosewater always makes me feel slightly ill, to be honest). My half-eaten bowl was not cleared by the host, but it just sat there looking accusatorily back at me.

Does anyone have any idea what this was? It wasn't really grainy like semolina or anything...but smooth and cream coloured (yes, we had an entirely beige meal!)

<a href='http://www.longfengwines.com' target='_blank'>Wine Tasting in the Big Beige of Beijing</a>

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Does anyone have any idea what this was? It wasn't really grainy like semolina or anything...but smooth and cream coloured (yes, we had an entirely beige meal!)

Could it be this?

Or, maybe this?

I agree - I do not like rosewater, and I do not enjoy all-beige meals! :laugh:

Unless the meal is mashed potatoes, and mashed potatoes only. The-en, I could get behind it. :wink:

"We had dry martinis; great wing-shaped glasses of perfumed fire, tangy as the early morning air." - Elaine Dundy, The Dud Avocado

Queenie Takes Manhattan

eG Foodblogs: 2006 - 2007

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i'm sorry i do not have any suggestions as to what the mystery dessert could have been. i am replying simply because your original posting made me howl with laughter, and i wonder if your host had inklings of your shock and dismay? and if so, is it okay to talk openly and honestly about the food? i recently did so with a host i didn't know well, fear i may have offended but explained truthfully and hopefully did not appear ungrateful.

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I cannot fathom taking rosewater between your lips, not since the Avon lady quite forcefully flavored every item in our small first house with several mighty squirts from the bottle of Rose Somethingorother. It was in the curtains, the sofa cushions, the very air we breathed, for DAYS. I fancied that I could taste it in the flour, sugar, coffee--all the cannistered items in the kitchen. And another neighbor gave everyone in our Sunday School class homemade hand softener---rose water and glycerin...peeew.

And that Water for Chocolate movie---where the dishes were so beautifully presented, and the family sat around eating rose petals and walking through fire---I'll opt for the asbestos slippers, thanks.

End rant. Back to your regularly scheduled program.

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Rachel, I feel the same way about apple-cinnamon-spiced-cider-clove things as you do about rosewater. Guess who always gets the apple cinnamon candles? I have to leave the room, house, store, etc. when they are heating any of those spiced drinks.

On the other hand I love rosewater, especially in my baklava syrup where most people use cinnamon, cloves or honey: I'm not fond of any of those. Still, I cannot imagine a recipe with 1 CUP of rosewater. That second recipe link in Megan's post is a horror: cornstarch-thickened, sweetened lowfat milk and rosewater. Surely the horrible, unidentifiable dessert was kin to that.

Ruth Dondanville aka "ruthcooks"

“Are you making a statement, or are you making dinner?” Mario Batali

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Rachel, I feel the same way about apple-cinnamon-spiced-cider-clove things as you do about rosewater.  ....

That second recipe link in Megan's post is a horror:  cornstarch-thickened, sweetened lowfat milk and rosewater.  Surely the horrible, unidentifiable dessert was kin to that.

Oh - it would be much harder to avoid appley-cinnamony things than rosewater normally...eeek!

For my part, I am definitely in Rachel's camp....the trouble is ............

the same person has ALSO served me that second dessert in Megan's post TOOOOO! :shock::shock:

Yes, I have been forced to eat that combo of cornstarch, milk and rosewater. It is disgusting, truly horrible. It's like perfumed flavoured talcium powder water...

Worse still, it had failed to set, so it was liquidy-wobbly perfumed talcium powder water.... :wacko:

Luckily, that time, I was hosting the said dinner in my own house, so I took over hostess role and cleared the bowls while hiding my own!

[i should mention that this same person wanted to bring the main course too...saying that it was an amazing Iranian dish...I was looking forward to it, having had good Persian food before. What was produced were these huge balls made of gross minced beef mushed together with overboiled peas and rice, which had then been boiled for about 1/2 hour. It was vile!]

Oceanfish:

I so so wish I could say something....the trouble is, that this person regards himself as a good cook (even to the extent of trying to write a cookbook!!). I think this person regards his own food as really really good... :sad:

I really can't bring myself to say anything...I don't know what I would do!! How did you phrase it?

I've tried to set an example... last time, I invited this person over I cooked the following:

Foie Gras Poêlée with Blackberries

---

Tomato and Darjeeling Tea Consommé

---

Trio of Marinated Salmon, Grilled Chilli Squid and Seared Scallops with Black Pudding

----

Duck Terrine with Rosemary Oil

-----

Five-Spice Roasted Pork Belly with Sesame Rice and Braised Shanghai Cai

-----

Spanish Almond Torte with Apricot Coulis

I mean, you think he would have sussed out that I quite like good food!

<a href='http://www.longfengwines.com' target='_blank'>Wine Tasting in the Big Beige of Beijing</a>

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Could it be this?

Or, maybe this?

I agree - I do not like rosewater, and I do not enjoy all-beige meals!  :laugh:

Unless the meal is mashed potatoes, and mashed potatoes only.  The-en, I could get behind it.  :wink:

I don't think it was the first as I didn't get any of the "rice-grain" texture of rice pudding- and there appeared to be no milk product of any sort in the mystery mix. As for the second.....I'm afraid it brought back more traumatic memories of the same person's cooking (see other post)....oh dear!

I wish the dessert had been mashed *plain* potatoes in retrospect...

*sigh* I guess we'll never know......

<a href='http://www.longfengwines.com' target='_blank'>Wine Tasting in the Big Beige of Beijing</a>

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My sister, who is a nurse, told me of an interesting dessert she had at the hospital cafeteria.

When she arrived in the cafeteria for lunch, everyone was "oohing" and "ahhing" over this beautiful chocolate cake, with white icing, displayed on a crystal platter at the end of the serving line. She made sure to get in line so she could get a piece of this beautiful cake.

Upon finishing her lunch, she decided to dig in to the cake. At first bite, she spit it out and said "Oh, my God!" At the same time, she noticed others in the cafeteria with a very similar reaction to the cake. Something was definitely wrong with that icing.

They had to know what was in the icing, so one brave employee went to the lovely young lady who had proudly displayed her cake creation--she asked her "how she made her icing". She proudly replied that she had used mayonnaise and cool whip mixed together -- NO LIE!! I wonder if anyone ordered a psych consult for this girl? :wacko:

pepperAnn

At my house, you get two choices for dinner:

TAKE IT or LEAVE IT!!!

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So many meals...so little time. Having grown up in Fargo, North Dakota and believing well into my twenties that all vegetables grew in cans, the memories abound. My mother, for example, made the world's worst spaghetti sauce. Ground beef, canned tomatoes, and chili pepper- period. For most of my adult life, I have avidly avoided any opportunities to dine on spaghetti with anything remotely resembling red sauce. Thus, when invited to dinner, I always ask what is to be served under the guise of wondering what wine to provide. Sadly, whenever the dreaded entree was mentioned, I always managed to have a sick child or other emergency waiting in the wings.

Until, that is, my 37th birthday when my best friend from college invited me to a celebratory barbecue. And it rained. Not without a plan B, she started cooking, (yes, you've guessed it) "dah, dah, dah, DUN"- the dreaded RED SAUCE FROM H_LL!

I used to think my mother was the worst cook, but now my friend has totally underwhelmed me. Not only was it a meal designed to produce Fargo flashbacks, but the aftermath was equally apalling. During the cleanup, while my friend scraped the leftover spaghetti, watermelon and corn into a bowl for compost, another guest proceeded to shove every leftover salad- greens, cole slaw, tortellini and potato- into one container to eat later.

And yet, the best was yet to come! My friend and I produced sons within 6 weeks of each other. Hers is organizationally challenged, to say the least. The day following the birthday bash, she reminded her beloved child that he needed to be awake, bathed and fed by the time she picked him up at noon. Sadly it was not to be. Thwarted once again, she rushed him through the bath, handed him his clothes and asked if he had eaten. Beofre he could say no, she had grabbed a bowl from the fridge, a fork from the drawer and stuffed all of them into the van. "Listen", she growled, "before I'm done with this sales call, I want this bowl empty." "But mom", he said. " Just eat it!" she demanded through clenched teeth while shoving the bowl at him. She came back to find her son clutching an empty bowl- well, almost empty, save for the few watermelon seeds and lonely corn kernals floating near the bottom. Thus ends the saga of how she fed her son compost for lunch.

Edited by NWKate (log)
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Last month I went to what was supposed to be "Tex-Mex" potluck thing held on October 20, amongst the bowls of guacamole, salsa, that 7 layer thing someone actually brought a big

bowl of candy corn. Since it is so humid here it immediately started to melt and run and looked

really awful quite early into the evening. Made my teeth hurt to look at it. A hui hou...... :hmmm:

"You can't miss with a ham 'n' egger......"

Ervin D. Williams 9/1/1921 - 6/8/2004

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