(Editors note: This is the first of many future “I try it so you don’t have to” columns from one of So Good’s new contributors, Lemmonex. Look for the column each and every Wednesday morning).
My father once read the label on a Kraft Single and said, “Cheese food? If they have to tell me it is food, I don’t think I should eat it”.
My pops, he is a wise man. The thing is, there is an alarming amount of things out there, in the aisles of the grocery store, that I look at and think, “That is a food? People actually eat that?” These things need a label proclaiming, “Made for human consumption”, because I have my doubts.
The supermarket is chock full of weird, bizarre, random, and perplexing offerings. Some of it has been around for ages, inspiring years of confused contemplation, and some are new brands that make me wonder “Who thought this up?” Some of it looks disgusting, I am sure some of it is tasty, but I know all of it strikes a certain chord of fear in my heart. So, out of this morbid curiosity, “I Try It So You Don’t Have To” was born. I will be here every Wednesday sacrificing my taste buds and digestive tract for your reading enjoyment.
What better way to kick off things off than with something that has haunted me for ages: Potted Meat. Drink it in, folks…POTTED. MEAT. What kind of meat is in this product, you ask? Why, mechanically separated chicken and beef tripe, of course. I had my doubts, but this turned out to be far worse than I could have even imagined.
Smell: The smell is reminiscent of wet cat food. I knew this was going no where good.
Texture/Appearance: The pinkish brown colored “meat” was oddly gelataneous and loose at the same time. I was surprised how easily it slurped out of the can, yet the remnants held the shape of the tine marks from the fork I used to scrape the can. The goo had slightly grainy texture, almost as if you pulled out the insides of a hot dog, soaked it in water for about a week, and then ground it up.
Taste: It was…not okay. I pride myself on having a fairly strong constitution and I had to give myself an internal pep talk in order to swallow a second bite. I nearly heaved. The taste is reminiscent of bologna and hot dogs. And, boy, does the taste linger. I had to eat a pickle and then, ten minutes later, a spoonful of peanut butter, in order to kill the toxic tingle that remained on my tongue.
Final verdict: Don’t do it. The combination of the potent smell, funky texture and putrid taste is enough to make even the strongest individual cry. This was truly revolting; I am shocked that someone would eat this if a gun weren’t being held to their head. Also, if you are any thing like this girl, you will be treated with a severely upset stomach. I had a brief moment while chewing this where I wondered, “What have I gotten myself in to with this column?”, but I have to believe I have sampled the worse and it will only get better from here.
Lemmonex snarks about food, life, and all her self-defeating decisions almost daily on her blog, Culinary Couture.