Pumpkin Italian

Ah yes. I remember this part of Dante’s Inferno. Not the third circle — gluttony — but the sixth, heresy. It’s a little known fact that Farinata degli Uberti was condemned to eternal, fiery punishment due to his perverse use of pumpkin flour. You’ve been warned.


Thanks to Elan, for documenting his purgatorial shopping trip.


Coconut gouda

As awful as the idea of coconut gouda sounds, and to a rational person who does not author a blog on terrible food, it sounds pretty foul, the very idea of it cannot live up to the sheer horror of tasting it.

It’s not even the coconut, per se. There are cheeses made of coconut. But the folks who made this abomination, people who were clearly willing to leave a stain on their national history for the sake of a demented attempt at innovation, didn’t think natural coconut tasted coconuty enough to hold up to the gouda. So they added artificial coconut flavouring too.

The result is that biting into this cheese is like going into a Body Shop and drinking one of their perfumes, then chasing it with a bit of smoky cheese.

All kinds of philosophical questions are running through my head right now. Who would do something like this? What would compel them to create this monstrosity? Did they run focus groups, and were those people taking the piss when they filled out their questionnaires or did they really like it? And what kind of person actually buys this and eats it?

Me. That’s who. Me.


“American” food has hit Germany. Supermarkets now have bland, nearly-pureed salsa, cheese-flavoured tortilla chips, and if you’re very lucky, hard little marshmallows. But now the Germans have taken American-Mexicanish food to the next level. They’ve gone and put it in a Ritter Sport.

My friend Kathleen let me know about this, and the first chance I got I bought one and tried it. “Tastes like popcorn,” my husband said.

If they ever do a Ritter Sport with simit in it, I will be in heaven.

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Guacamole in a squeeze bottle

My friend Wendy from The Upstart Kitchen spotted this stunning exotic apéritif in a Carrefour in Dijon. For those of you who don’t know what a Carrefour is, it’s a massive supermarket where you can go to convince yourself that the French are no better than anybody else. Though I’m sure when they squeeze months-old ready-made guac onto — what? pray tell, what would you squeeze it on? — they do it with much more panache than humble Americans.

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