Dear Google Mail,
I know you think it's cute to post actual spam recipes in my spam mail folder, but it brings back bad memories. Specifically bad memories of being forced to eat spam in primary school by sadistic dinner ladies (when I was a kid, not in my current place of work).*
This only came to end after the following conversation:
Dinner lady: Eat it all up.
5 years old Annie: I don't like it.
Dinner lady: Don't be silly! Come on, I'm standing here until you finish it.
Annie: It makes me feel sick.
Dinner lady: You're so fussy! Come on, just one mouthful. Come on... I'm putting it on the fork for you... that's it...
Annie: [pukes all over the dinner lady's shoes.]
Dinner lady: !!!
Kindly cease and desist with the spam recipes. Thank you.
* for which reason, I am a libertarian these days when it comes to kids' diets. If they wanna survive on chocolate buttons, let 'em.
Incidentally, my mum's kitchen cupboard was the stuff of legend amongst my friends, being packed with every type of chocolate bar and crisp known to man, whereas they were only allowed to snack on nuts and raisins and sunflower seeds, but I found my own way when I was older and my diet's pretty healthy. So there.
spam
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22 hours ago
16 comments:
I was forced to eat baked beans at nursery
Haven't touched 'em since...
Leek and potato soup was my nemesis, and I solved the problem in a very similar fashion, although it was the headmistresses shoes that received 'decoration'.
Still makes me gag.
UCCCHGGHGHGHHH
Powdered potato delivered in an icecream scoop......
Oh Anxious. Too cruel. This reminds me of a French friend who was describing this indescribable food someone had served him "It was these mushy type of beans - tasting very much of sugar - in some kind of orange coloured sauce..." described like that, they do sound rank.
Gordon - borking on the headmistress, no less! You little anarchist, you!
Greavsie - boac! Oh dear. These tales of chucking-up did amuse me. I seem to be regressing as I get older.
Ah, I remember your mum´s magic cupboard - it was like the biscuit aisle in the supermarket. As opposed to my household where if you wanted a biscuit you had to make them from scratch with organic brown flour - sigh.
In my school when spam was on the menu, it was ambitiously described as "wimpey" and had some decorative bits of fried onion and tomato skin as a garnish. Sadly - I think I liked it (see earlier point about being brought up on healthy food at home).
Never really been fussy with food. I didn't like mushrooms much, but I eat them now. I think the only thing I won't eat is sweetcorn. Just don't like the taste. Which is rare for something with the word "sweet" in it's name.
Sadly it never made me chunder over any of the totalitarian oppressors. Sorry, teachers. Cough. Been naughty.
When I went to the 'big school' aged 11, my parents switched me to school dinners and to save time switched my younger brother as well.
He used to regale me with tales of how horrible the school dinners were in his school:
"BEANS???"
"No, thank you"
*spoons beans onto plate regardless*
Em, tee hee hee! How clearly I remember that hopeful gleam when you asked 'can we look in your cupboard?'
I am not fussy, Del, but spam is just plain wrong. Even now I'm a totatalitarian oppressor myself, wouldn't make anyone eat it. Or sweetcorn. Or drink Vimto (which my flatmate unaccountably likes, still, she's from Manchester...)
Billy, that sounds kind of like the dinner staff where I work, who seem to be hired with the main requirement being that they hate children.
SPAM FRITTERS!!!!! :D
This post uncovered a maternal streak I have always tried to suppress. Poor little Annie.
However, if you don't eat your spam your hair will grow inwards and destroy your brain. Or so I was told.
Am I alone in quite liking spam?
Just cold though fritters yuck.
I thought boke was spelt boke btw
I don't think I've ever seen it written down though.
Weirdly, although I hated almost everything about school, the food was pretty good (unlike in my father's day, when one boy posted a meal back to his parents, just to prove it was - literally - rotten).
A friend of mine at school nearby was less lucky. The porridge was affectionately known as "Two lepers in a bath".
Rad - *boac*
Helga, they also told you that if you ate apple pips an apple tree would grow inside you - still waiting in vain...
Realdoc, it pains me to say this but we can no longer be friends. You utter freak. ('Boac!' is how they spell it in Colette's Claudine novels which I've just been reading - v French and sophisticated, you know...)
Quink - blimey, was that public school? You think they'd have more of a budget for fine foods, skinflint bastards. Or were the headteachers skimming the fees, living it up on brandy and cigars?
Ha! V funny - yet also quite sickening.
No: I think they spent the money on plush carpets and fake oil paintings to impress prospective parents. And, of course - and I must stress that I have no knowledge of such a thing ever happening - it's always handy to have a bit of hush money lying around in the coffers.
I quite like Vimto. The fizzy stuff is yum. Heheh. I'm just being difficult now.
I now remember in my third year at secondary school taking a vow that I would never ever eat anything from the school canteen ever again after being fed up with their selection. I stuck to my word for the remaining four years of my time there, which was pretty dedicated, as they also sold snacks like chocolate bars and drinks that even they couldn't screw up.
And of all the totalitarian oppressors, you're my favourite...
Quink - hush money? I sense scandals, chicanery and dark dealings. Go on, spill the beans...
Del, fizzy Vimto, what a vile thought. I imagine that your decision at secondary school saved your health and possibly your life.
Ah, that's the sweetest compliment I've had all year.
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