Well, here we are at the bitter end. Or, more appropriately, the gag-filled end. I didn’t technically choke this one down — it would have taken a miracle for me to have swallowed this smelly, goopy mess. And I don’t think they would have named the snack after Beelzebub if it had been capable of miracles. To make matters worse, now my kitchen smells like holy hell. (I had to whip up the instruments of my own torture, soldiering through the fumes and slime and mushy egg entrails.) But I did it. I stood up to my bogeyest bogeyman. So what if he kicked my butt? (For a peek at the agony of my defeat, there’ll be a video on Picky Niki’s Facebook page, courtesy of my impish daughter.)
Sorry for the delay! Stupid internet went down after an epic day of cooking. Very frustrating. Anyway, here’s the much anticipated Day 364:
I decided — on this end-of-experiment eve — to stick myself with one more insanely complicated recipe. So of course I had to go with mole. Used this recipe. Mine turned out greener and thinner than the pictures online. No matter — it was good. But, since it took at least 3 hours and dirtied most of my dishes, I don’t think I’ll be making it again anytime soon. Sure will be nice to go back to living on pizza and beer after tomorrow …
My goose was cooked … by my husband. And he did a pretty good job. It was breaded and fried and tasted fine. But I just couldn’t get over the image of this little chickie sitting in my fridge waiting for tonight. (My husband got a sack of it off a hunting pal.) It looked like an organ lying in that bag, with a giant yellow glob of fat sitting on top. So this was a case of mind over matter. Only in a negative sense.
I’m sure I’ve ingested some form of cream cheese over the span of this last year. Frankly, I’m having a bit of trouble remembering everything I’ve eaten. But I know I’ve never, ever had cream cheese on a bagel. Because I always thought that was unnecessarily gross. And I was right. Disturbing texture. Plus, why would I want a weirdly tangy spread when I can have my bagel slathered with dripping, buttery goodness?
This was really living on the edge for me. Sampling unmeltified cheese and a cooked-fruit product … and even layering the two together. Positively daring. But it didn’t work out so well. The manchego had that same old hated chalky texture that I haven’t gotten used to even after forcing a variety of cheeses down my gullet. And the quince paste is, well, a paste, for goodness sake. The only good thing about pairing the two is that you get the yuckiness out of the way all at once.
Wandering around the grocery store this weekend I realized how lucky I was that I only have a few more days left. I’m pretty well out of ideas, except for some places I’m just not willing to go. Like liverwurst. Or pork hocks. Or pickled eggs. Or gefilte fish. I’ll admit I looked long and hard at the pickled eggs and gefilte fish (that has got to be, hands down, the grossest looking food in the world). But I really don’t see the point in torturing myself just to torture myself. What’s it going to accomplish? Am I going to add gefilte fish to my regular diet? Not bloody likely.
Anyway, after depressing myself good and plenty with my startling lack of options, I ran across this little gem. I actually giggled when I saw it sitting there on the store shelf, waiting patiently for me to discover its ludicrousness. And in case you’re wondering, yes, there is actually chicken in these crackers. Specifically, dehydrated cooked chicken. That’s right. It’s crackerfied chicken. I especially love how they misspell components of some packaged delicacies. Just so we don’t accidentally mistake it for real food. I also enjoyed the Easy Cheese advertisement on the back of the box. Because, by golly, if you’re going to eat unrecognizable chicken, you should certainly coat it with unrecognizable cheese.
These weren’t so terrible gross, though. At least not to me, with my high tolerance of extremely processed foods. Just really salty with a (not at all surprising) industrial aftertaste. My daughters both gagged, though. I guess I’m doing something right.
Fellow blogger Anne turned me on to this Middle Eastern treat, which is pita stuffed with yummy, thinly sliced, melt-in-your-mouth meat. Unless you make it yourself. Or unless I make it myself. This recipe (also in beef) gives some make-at-home tips. But meat and I have an understanding: I’m going to cook the crap out of it and it’s going to turn into leather. It’s a relationship that’s almost satisfying in its predictability. I like the heavy garlic aspect of this dish. And I’m definitely in favor of salty pickles. Technically, I think I’m still a shawarma virgin, but I’m going to give it a thumbs up anyway.