FIVE ODDEST FOODS

MONTE CRISTO.

In a little cafe in Hill City which is famed for its delicious desserts, like the nicknamed "Tower Cup of Death" (a huge sundae glass filled with chocolate mousse, sauce, fudge and brownies). It also serves the astounding "Monte Cristo" and by golly, I was astounded! It's a sandwich, plain and simple, right? Wrong. So wrong. The club sandwich contained swiss cheese, turkey and ham. The sandwich bread was french toast. The sandwich was then deep fried. The sandwich then patted completely with powdered sugar. The sandwich was served with raspberry dip. It wasn't very nice.

QUAVERS AND MILK

This was my obsession when I was about 5, and I still do it now from time to time. You have a glass of milk and use the scooped part of the quaver as a "spoon" and pick the milk up with it... I was an odd child.

APRICOT YOGHURT AND PALONY SAUSAGE

I think when I was about 16-20 I had some sort of four year long phantom pregnancy and used to eat this quite regularly. I would dip a tesco value cheapy palony sausage, cut into slices, into a smooth apricot yoghurt and enjoy it. I'd probably still enjoy it now. It's a weird one.

SPAGETTI ON CRACKERS

When my dad first became ill and my mam had to leave the house I would cook for him. I was eight years old with an over active imagination. We had no bread, so I thought crackers were similar enough to bread for spagetti on toast. I piled the steaming hot tinned spagetti on top of buttered Jacob's crackers. My dad ate it all and pretended to enjoy it. One of my more favoured memories of him. The crackers had turned to complete mush and it all amalgamated into some tepid mush, but he still ate it all. For me.

UNKNOWN

You regularly eat at the University Commons. The University, as part of the studying abroad deal has provided you with a meal plan. You have your card with rations for the year swiped. You enter and sit at your regular table. Towards the front. Near the food.

This particular time you've had your usual meal of Chicken Alfredo Pasta, which may sound quite nice but do not be fooled. Like all student food it's tasteless, badly cooked and just flat out bad for you. This meal consists of overcooked pasta, with scraps of chicken off the bone dowsed in some watery cream. The only redeeming feature of the entire place is the bread-sticks. They do the most amazing bread-sticks. Everybody fights for them. A huge pile of students elbowing, shoving and tripping to get a taste of the herby, bready goodness. Today you have obtained two bread-sticks. Go you. But you've probably developed a bruise on your shin because someone thought they deserved them more than you did.

Emily fancies dessert today and goes up to the busy buffet of food, selects something and returns. Yourself, Missy and a few others stare at it. Sarah, a girl who often lunches with you, speaks first.

“What is that?”

Emily looks disgusted.

“I don't know, but I think it's strawberry flavoured.”

“There's definitely some sponge in there” you say, staring intently. Missy asks the question you've all been thinking.

“Why?”

“Well,” Emily replies, “it was either that or a bowl of fruit”

“Emily, it looks like it's alive.” Sarah says, grabbing Emily's fork to play with it some more.

“It looks like an alien afterbirth that's been eaten then vomited up again.” Missy looks proud of her analogy as the rest of you maintain your faces of repulsion.

Emily play fights with Sarah to get her fork back. She faces the dessert as if it's a staring competition. A stand off. A 'this town isn't big enough for the two of us' moment.

You stare into the gelatinous, diseased mess. Missy was right with her description. This gooey placenta of festering mucus seems to be lifelike. Emily slowly pushes her fork into it and with a moist squelch it repulsively gloops across the plate. It begins to secrete an almost clear discharge of liquid. Tinged light pink. The amoebic pudding lays still, bleeding out over the white plastic plate. Burnt parts of the lurid crimson sponge look scabby as Emily casually and repeatedly prods it. Diseased, infected and septic, it lets Emily hack away at it. It is a soldier laying on a battlefield. Gangrenous and dead, it's pus and blood gushing out. Every now and then Emily mutilates it some more, with a repugnant squish each time one of it's many limbs falls off. She should've gone for the fruit.

“I'm going to eat it.” She says.

Everybody else can't quite believe it and huddles around.

Emily places the fork fully into the red goo and pushes slowly into it. Sarah retches.

“Don't do it Emily” you warn her dramatically as she raises a forkful of this pudding to her lips. She's carefully avoided the jelly and gone for the more spongy bit. She nibbles the end, her face blank.

“Well, it's not strawberry flavoured.” She says, looking a little peaky.

“What is it?” Missy asks.

“I'm... well, I'm not entirely sure... It tastes savoury.”

“Like salty?” Sarah probes.

“Yuh-huh.” Emily looks at it. Horrified that she's even tried it.

“I want to try some” Missy chirps, followed by Emily grabbing the fork and putting her hand up to Missy's face.

“Trust me. You do not want to do that.” You go instead. You bravely grab yourself a fork and cut off, as best you can, a piece of the gelatinous mess. You place it into your mouth with false confidence, thinking it can't really be all that bad. Suddenly, the texture and taste of the hideous thing forces your throat to spasm uncontrollably. The small piece of whatever you just ate slides down into your windpipe, wrapping around your throat. You can neither swallow nor regurgitate. You could potentially choke to death but Missy slaps you fiercely on the back. “I'm definitely not trying any now!”

You suggest that perhaps the dessert would be better suited to NOT being eaten by anything that intends to remain living. Everyone is in agreement with you. As a united collective, you all crowd around the bin and let out a small cheer as whatever kind of alien life form you've just been subjected to lets out a last gasping 'gloop' noise and slithers off into the abyss of the rubbish bag, never to be seen again. You hope.