Remember when you were a kid and you could not get up from the dinner table until your entire meal was finished. Whatever it was, brussel sprouts, cauliflower, broccoli; you had to eat it! We all dreaded dinner as a child unless it was candy and ice cream. What’s worst than the vegetables? Being forced to eat that chicken pot pie your great aunt whipped up. Nasty. Quora users share the worst food their family has prepared and forced them to eat.
“My mom could be ‘inventive’ when it came to preparing meals. I grew up in the 1940s when store bought canned goods instead of home canning was initially available. My mom loved to mix Campbells soups with about any cut of meat or chicken or even nice fresh fish. Campbells put out recipes on the back of their soup cans exclaiming how convenient and time saving they were. Prior to store bought canned goods, mom ‘put-up’ lovely tomatoes, made her own spaghetti sauce and canned it and we had lots of home canned veggies. Canned goods of the 40s and 50s were loaded with salt as a form of preservative, making many of the meals inedible. Mom made a dish she called Goulash out of Cream Tomato, Cream of Mushroom and Cream of Celery soups and, usually, a tough chuck roast. She’d throw all this into a pressure cooker and it would come out a mess of salty slop. Totally gross, but time saving. No one but Dad would eat it. He’d ladle it over a pile of mashed potatoes as gravy and say it was ‘delish’. He knew what side of his bread was buttered.”
“You’re bringing back terrible memories…Last year, my dad attempted a new version of pancakes. Usually, they’re very good. However, this time he added way too much flax seed, milk, and oranges. Now, you may know that the latter two do not go well together. But he had to take it one more step further… he added cheese. Don’t even ask me what he was thinking, and I seriously wonder about that, because something made my stomach sick that day…”
“Ahh I can’t help but add a classic family story here. My mum is a great cook, but on occasions she’s been known to experiment. We’ll ignore the cumin in the carrots disaster and I’ll take you back to when I was about 8 or 9. Mum made soup. Peanut butter soup. Peanut butter and parsnip soup. Peanut. Butter. Soup. With parsnips. You palette as a kid isn’t great as it is, and claggy, thick, weird peanut butter soup didn’t sit well. None of us liked it, but only one of us complained the most…. me. That meant Mum didn’t have to finish hers, Dad didn’t have to finish his, my brother’s binned. Mine? No… I made a fuss, so I have to finish it. From starting dinner at around 5.30pm, I was still sat at the table at gone 10pm, crying into my coagulated, cold, peanut butter, parsnip and children’s tears soup. Gross.”