It's always nice when someone offers to make us food. By doing so it shows the person's love and dedication, as they are taking the time and energy to make a special meal. However, that does not mean the food is going to be good. But, we still have to try to eat it.
People on Reddit share the worst meal they've ever eaten out of politeness. Content has been edited for clarity.
“The Next Few Minutes Were Not Pleasant”
“Shortly after (a few days) I started dating my wife, she invited me over to her place for dinner. Pork roast, baked potatoes, green beans etc. Needless to say, I was looking forward to it for many reasons, not the least of which was that I somehow was dating a beautiful woman who also apparently could cook.
I show up at the scheduled time after getting out of work, and sit down to the table with a glass of Jack and Coke while she whizzes around the kitchen wrapping things up.
She comes trotting out with our plates happy/proud as could be, and serves dinner. I took one look, and I knew I was doomed (as I had worked in a few restaurants up to this point and grew up in a family of cooks) but figured I could man my way through it.
The beans and baked potato were fine. The pork roast, however, was not. It was like eating a hockey puck that had taken a trip through the pits of the underworld. I casually asked for the salt and ketchup, claiming that I like my pork roast with those and went to town. About 30 minutes later, I had a gut full of leather and veggies. I was thanking Zeus I was able to get through it after kindly turning down seconds due to a ‘late lunch at work’.
Fast-forward a few months, and we were having a grill out. I am assembling my burger and my girlfriend passes me the ketchup which I (without even thinking) decline because I do NOT like ketchup on anything. The table goes silent, a cold wind blows through the air and it dawns on me… I just completely blew my freaking cover.
Needless to say, the next few minutes were not pleasant. Fortunately for me, her dad came to my rescue and said, ‘Darling, I saw the pork roast you made and I wouldn’t have fed it to my dog let alone another person and this guy ate every bit you gave him. Either he was really desperate or he REALLY loves you, so you need to keep that in mind before you rip him in half over the ketchup snafu.’
Here we are now almost nine years later and every once in a while at dinner I’ll ask her to pass me the ketchup… if I want to be ignored for the rest of the night.”
“I Could Sense There Was Something Wrong”
“My ex made some pasta with a homemade sauce. Well, it looked good, but the moment I brought it to my mouth, I could sense there was something wrong. It was the strangest combination of flavors I’ve ever experienced. She put Chinese five spice, cinnamon, chives, cloves, garlic powder, onion power, nutmeg, basically every spice she owned. Also, a metric heck-ton of salt and a bunch of hot peppers and fruits and vegetables she had lying around.
I ate as much as I could, then grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay and suggested we watch a movie to get out of finishing. I lasted thirty minutes after ‘dinner’ before my body rejected the ‘food’ I’d just eaten. It was torture going in and coming out. I did the dishes after I emptied my body and threw out all the left overs (she made enough to feed a small village) I told her I spilled it while I was cleaning up. Anyway, that sauce still haunts me, the pasta was cooked nicely though, I guess she had that going for her.”
“I Choked It All Down”
“When I was a kid, I begged for ages to have creamed corn. I don’t know why I wanted it so bad, but I remember sitting at the middle seat of the table, so stoked about my creamed corn that I went for it first. It tasted freaking awful. So bad, that I didn’t eat creamed corn again for years after that. Being the great child I was, I choked it all down, because I would have felt like such a brat if I didn’t.
When my parents finally got around to having theirs, they realized the corn was unfit for consumption, looked bashfully at me, and asked how it was. I nodded, and they proceeded to inform me that the corn had gone bad, and I shouldn’t have eaten it. Through my embarrassment, I said I didn’t want them to be mad at me for going through the trouble of finally making it, and then me not eating it.
My mom was extremely apologetic, and said they wouldn’t be mad at me if I didn’t eat food that spoiled. I think they both felt super embarrassed for having ignored my request for so long and then presenting me with food poisoning in a bowl.
“He Didn’t Know What Else To Do”
“My father had a friend that had recently gotten engaged to a really nice woman that my father described as ‘The worst cook in the world.’
One afternoon, he was invited over to their home for lunch. He went over to see his friend, but when he was offered lunch, which was pork chops and mashed potatoes, he declined and made up that something was wrong with his mouth, so he couldn’t eat (I think he said either wisdom teeth or a root canal). The fiancé felt bad that they’d be eating in front of my dad and didn’t want him to be hungry…so she put the pork chops and mashed potatoes into a blender for him.
My dad said he drank it because he didn’t know what else to do, he didn’t want to admit he lied, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He said he nearly vomited with every sip and as of today it’s still been the worst thing he’s ever eaten/drank.”
“My Mother Is The Worst”
“My dad is a former Marine who isn’t picky. He’ll devour just about anything. But for some reason he hates meatloaf. Absolutely despises it.
My parents went to visit my mother’s aunt and uncle. They are from her biological family that she tracked down after 40 years. So my aunt to welcome them makes this… fermented style of meat loaf that is basically a steaming pile of everything my father refuses to eat. But it’s the first time my mother has met anyone from her biological family. He didn’t want to offend them, So he stomached a piece by eating it as fast as he could…
Cue my mother going, ‘Look Aunt Carol, he loves your meatloaf! I can never get him to eat mine.’
So, Aunt Carol cuts off another big slab and puts it on his plate. He grins, and eats the second helping.
My mother is the worst.”
“We Weren’t Going To Say A Thing”
“My wife used a pot that apparently still had dishwashing soap residue on it from a new brand of soap she was trying. Apparently, that particular brand has a thicker soap than others and didn’t rinse off completely. Her father was over, and she made his favorite meal as a surprise. Ranch spiced pork chops, buttered croissant rolls, sweet peas and garlic mashed potatoes. He and I sat down and starting eating and both noticed that the peas tasted very soapy. We looked at each other as if in recognition (of the taste) and agreement (to not say a word). These peas tasted awful, but my wife can be very emotional, and we weren’t going to say a thing.
My wife finished making our daughters plate, then her own and finally sat down to eat. She got probably two bites into the peas, said they tasted like dish soap and then asked us what we thought. We agreed with her, eyes down like scolded school children, and she proceeded to ask why the heck we were still eating them if they tasted like that. Then we felt scolded even more, on top of our blatant ignorance in her eyes. Even our daughter started to eat them, not wanting to mention the taste because mommy had been working so hard on that meal for all of us.
The peas went in the trash, and we finished the meal. Her father burst out laughing at her reaction. Still to this day, when my wife tells our daughter that we are having sweet peas, she asks if they are the soapy kind or regular.”
“He Immediately Spat Out His Bite”
“My step-son had been going on about ‘Rocket Soup’ for weeks. We had no idea what this was at first, but each time we asked him, he beamed ‘Beans, peas, and cheese!’ I cook every day for my family, and I think he wanted to join the fun. The two of us went to the store to get his ingredients, so he could make dinner. I got home from work one afternoon to see my wife and step-son cooking away in the kitchen.
A few cans of white beans, a couple cans of peas, and a bag of shredded Velveeta were on the counter. After everything was heated up with some water, and the cheese melted in the soup, I served dinner. My boy was about seven at the time, and he was so proud of his accomplishment. I took the first bite, then the other two started eating. He immediately spat out his bite and started crying. It was terrible. I ate two bowls.”
“She Thought It Sounded Fancy”
“We used to have to go eat once a week at my in laws house, and every week was a disgusting adventure of sadness. One of the first weeks, my ex mother-in-law made chili, and being from Texas I was excited to hear that’s what was for dinner. Except this chili was made by pouring a bottle of ketchup into a saucepan and adding ground beef. It was basically ketchup soup.
Another week, the father-in-law grilled steaks, and my hopes were quickly dashed when I told him I liked mine medium rare and was quickly informed that everyone got theirs the same way, well done. Not just well done, burnt to a crisp, drier than the Sahara, done.
Other things were just weird, smothering pork chops with mustard, deep-frying everything. I have some wicked irritable bowel syndrome so each week was like a trip to a torture chamber for my guts.
I didn’t eat this one, but once the mother-in-law apparently bought tins of a seafood medley cat food and made sandwiches with it to serve at a potluck, labeling them ‘seafood sandwiches’ because she thought it sounded fancy.”
“A Crime Against Humanity”
“I was in 8th grade home economics class. We were supposed to be making pizza. I was charge of the ingredients and I made the sauce. The sauce smelled so good. Like how Pizza Hut used to be before it became a grease fest. And the way my partner described it made us think it was going be the best, like we should pay money to taste this delicious pizza!
That pizza tasted awful. I take it out of the oven, mouth watering, skipped out on breakfast to eat this. I bite into it, the flavors were awful. I could hear the crunch of a garlic clove in the pizza sauce. Not only that, she made us put two cups of sugar in it. Tasted like trash, the salty/meaty taste the sauce was supposed to have was ruined by her sweet tooth, because the recipe was to her liking. And the sauce was thick as heck too, like there was barely anything you could call sauce. That pizza was a crime against humanity.”
“It Was Cold And Stale”
“I stayed the night at a friends house and all night, there were talking about how the dad was a great cook and breakfast would be amazing. I woke up a bit later than everyone else, and they had all started eating. I grabbed a plate and started loading it with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and potatoes with cottage cheese in it. Thought the last part was a little weird, but the dad was an amazing cook. I took a bite of the hash brown, it was cold and stale.
Not wanting to be rude, I kept eating and was making a horrible face. Everyone asked me what was wrong then looked at my plate and freaked out. Apparently, their dogs get a bit of cottage cheese in their dry food and the dad makes their food in a mixing bowl on the counter then divvy it up from there.
I had eaten dog food.”
“My Sister Trembled With Fear”
“My mom is a great chef, and could honestly make something different for dinner that tasted fantastic every day for three months straight. But this one night… After a tough game of football which my team had narrowly lost, instead of the usual treat of fish and chips, my mom announced she made ‘bean curry’ for dinner.
Now my mum is from a not so great area of a not so great northern town, and is very much a ‘Eat your food, because you can either eat that or have nothing’ kind of mom. So regardless of what we were eating, we all just always ate it and were happy, as usually this was fine because it was great food. However, on ‘B-day’ (as we will now refer to bean curry day as) this could simply not be achieved. About half-way through, 10 minutes of gut wrenching pain and desperate half-spoons of this beany monstrosity, I suggested to my mom that I left the rest because I wasn’t hungry. She gave me the look of daggers, and I think it was in part because she knew it wasn’t one of her best meals.
But mom was staunch, and replied ‘if you don’t eat this you’re not just making sandwiches later,’ which I occasionally did if I was still hungry at around 10pm.
I nodded and grimly returned to the bean mess.
Another 10 minutes, little progress had been made and the bean platter didn’t seem to have diminished at all. It stared at me like some terrible nightmare and simply wouldn’t go away. So I bit the bullet and went for it.’
‘I’m feeling pretty full mum, I think I might stop there… And… I’m not like… You know… Overly keen I think…’
Silence ensued. My sister trembled with fear, her cutlery chattering against the table.
‘You don’t like it?’ my mom deadpanned.
‘Um…’ I stumbled.
At this point, dad piped up. Usually he keeps to himself in disputes, so I was quite surprised he joined the fray.
‘Well… If he’s not that keen on it…’ he mumbled, sliding the remaining half of his own bean death around the plate.
‘So you don’t like it either?’ mum growled, as dad looks down trying to hide his smirk.
‘And you?’ now to my sister, who shrugged.
Cutlery was dropped, plates were clattered, expletives yelled and food was scraped into a bin as mum stomped around the kitchen complaining nobody appreciated her and that we were all selfish. The bean nightmare was over, but the pain of her being awful with us for the next 24 hours had only just begun.
Four years on I discovered she also hated it but just didn’t want to admit it.”
“It Was Absolutely Inedible”
“I rented a room in a nice house a while back, and I had a wonderful Filipina landlord who was very generous to her tenants. As is Filipino culture apparently, it is imperative that everyone under your roof is well-fed at all times. So it was great, a constant supply of cooked rice, tilapia, sausage, as well as some of the more exotic Filipino foods. I actually liked the blood soup, and my taste buds have beholden the glorious taste of beef glazed with peanut butter. Even had a couple belut, which is a hard-boiled duck egg with a partially grown fetus inside, so you get a little crunchy surprise.
But the one thing she cooked that knocked me over and I just could not for the life of me finish was a fish casserole. I was always appreciative of food I received, and her being a direct Filipino immigrant, I knew there was heck to pay one way or another if somebody finds a free meal unsatisfactory. The first bite was just such a surprise, an explosion of fishy taste with an overabundance of salt that immediately dehydrated my mouth. It was absolutely inedible.
I was hoping somebody would point out that something was wrong, but I then just assumed that maybe I got a pocket of concentrated juices and salt that just congealed in a corner like Satan’s jello. Everyone around me was enjoying it normally, I just had to have gotten a bad piece.
So I took a bite from the other end of the piece. And it was even worse. Even saltier, even fishier, it was like somebody compressed Dutch Harbor into a diabolical marble of antimatter and I just chomped down into it. I really was about to throw up, the fish smell was just overpowering.
I took that second bite. That was the most polite thing I will ever do for another human being in my life. I then pretend to check my phone, and pretend that I got an urgent text from a friend, and excuse myself. But I know I can’t just leave the fish casserole sitting there uneaten while I cower away hungry and coughing up salt in my room.
So in a wild gambit I say, ‘Hey, I got to take this, but you don’t mind if I finish this…over in my, uh…room?’
My landlord smiles warmly, that welcoming wonderful grin.
‘Sure, go ahead dear,’ she says sweetly.
Now I feel even worse. She just wants to see me happy, and she’s so nice to all her tenants and I’m about to be a huge butt by lying to her and privately disposing of that casserole without her finding out.
But I take another look at that dish. The smell hits me again. Logical thinking and empathy are out the door, Darwinian instinct takes over, and I do what I must.
Ten minutes later, as I’m hearing dishes clearing out, I make my move. I duck into the shared bathroom with my plate in hand, locking the door behind me. I’ve cut it up into three pieces, and three flushes later it is gone. I duck back into my room, count to 10, then come back out with empty plate in hand.
‘Ah, hey!’ My landlord notices. ‘You ate it all in ten minutes? Here, I can get you another if you want.’
Jesus Christ, come on. I already lied to this wonderful woman once and defiled both her cooking and the shared bathroom. I have to lie to her again!?
I have to lie to her again.
‘Yeah sorry, my friend’s having some girlfriend issues,’ I lie through my teeth, ‘I uhh…’
The idea hits me. “‘ have to go give him some company.’
“Okay!” My landlord warmly smiles again, erroneously thinking about such a good man I am. ‘If you get too trashed to drive, call me I can drive you home safe.’
I drove off. I went three blocks down the main road, pulling into a Jack in the Box, and ordered a burger and curly fries. All the while, feeling crippled with guilt and self-loathing. Just imagining her face if she found out I flushed a meal she worked so hard on to feed me out of the kindness of her own heart, that I ditched her at the table of her own meal on a fabricated lie, just to see her warm welcoming smile fade into a disappointed saddened scowl, it was overwhelming my psyche.
I was just too scared to honestly say ‘Thank you very much but this is actually too salty and fishy for my own tastes, somebody else could have my piece if they wish.’
And because of the guilt, the disappointment in myself, and that pitiful attempt as misguided politeness, that burger and curly fries was the worst meal I ever ate.”
“My Boyfriend Shot Me A Sickened Glance”
“While living in Missoula, Montana, an environmental activist friends of ours invited us to dinner at their new place. We went over, and they showed us around and while one of them finished up cooking in the kitchen.
Dinner was served! We hungrily gathered around the table and took our seats. We put down our drink and dug right into the beef stroganoff and side of vegetables. A couple of bites in, I’m noticing something a bit, let’s say, ‘off’ about the food. I say to my hosts, ‘Mmm. Thanks for the awesome meal!’
One of them replies, ‘You’re welcome. But, it was free! We went dumpster diving for every item on our plates! Pretty unbelievable, huh?’
I gagged. As I looked back down to my plate, I realized that every single ingredient was semi rotten and obtained from the mess of a dumpster. Even just the smell of the white sauce sliming its way across the turned beef stroganoff made me feel sweaty and dizzy with nausea. My boyfriend shot me a sickened glance of heck, and we both just moved things around while choking down the most soupy mix of semi putrid food I’ve ever eaten.”
“I Knew Something Was Wrong”
“One of my all-time favorite foods is Thanksgiving turkey. My family looks for reasons to grill a bird. So when I meet this cute girl, she said she hated turkey with a passion, I could not understand why. That was until I was invited to their Thanksgiving dinner. Her mom oven roasted this poor turkey. Now normally, I would hesitate on an oven roasted turkey because it can dry out easy. What I can say is I still was hopeful and did not want her family to hate me. I knew something was wrong. My turkey senses were tingling as I was watching her saw off the meat of this gas chamber turkey. What could best be described as turkey dust was collecting on the carving plate.
I hesitantly grabbed a fair chunk of dark meat, knowing it’s normally a bit juicer. I also even went one step further I covered it in gravy. I thought I was ready, but I was not. As I started to chew my first bite I could feel the turkey suckling up the saliva in my mouth like a vacuum. I was desperate, so I took a sip of water to little avail, but I could now chew it a little more. I had to repeat the process of taking two or three drinks of water per bite of turkey.
I would say we have all experienced dry turkey. Normally if there is some flavor it’s not so bad, but it was also bland. And since the skin more or less resembled potato chips I had to get creative with downing the rest by means of mixing it with every side. The effect was disappointment in every bite for the entire meal, but I finished the piece. I said thank you for the meal and silently said a prayer for the bird and I’m not even religious but I felt if there was a God he should have mercy on this meal. Later, as I’m driving with my girlfriend home she said she watched something change in my eyes that day out of despair. I could not find it in me to argue with that statement.
“I Mentally Blacked Out”
“I don’t eat seafood. I can’t eat seafood. The taste makes me want to puke. Yes, I know, I suck at eating, but that’s how it is with me.
That being said, years ago my family threw a dinner for me years ago before I left the country to study. We went to a very fancy Chinese restaurant. I was cringing the whole time, because despite knowing me all my life, my relatives simply could not fathom that I didn’t eat seafood.
They’d be like ‘What? Not even prawns?’
And I’d have to gingerly admit it again.
So, the main course arrived. A big steamed fish. I was doing fine with the pork and chicken, but this was the star of the show apparently. And since I was the ‘subject’ of the dinner, my uncle decided to bestow the night’s highest honor on me by cutting off the fishes head and placing it on my plate, before I could say a darn thing.
God, those eyes staring up at me. The smell! And that god-awful uncle and relatives looking at me expectantly, waiting for me claim my prize. I held my breath and just cut off a piece and swallowed it. I mentally blacked out. I think I managed to eat a few bites before surrendering it to the person next to me.
Till this day, as an act of petty revenge, whenever we go out to a western restaurant, I make sure to order a steak, to the horror of my family (Hindus).
And then I say ‘Hold up… you guys don’t eat beef?'”