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Dietary Errors.
Jun. 18th, 2009 09:19 amI was on the train last night. It's something I try to avoid because it's usually a pretty miserable experience, but sometimes I can't avoid it and, as usual, the train I was on was badly delayed due to 'unforseen circumstances'. I hadn't bothered eating anything before I set off as I had hoped to make good time and as I sat there twiddling my thumbs I got slowly hungrier and hungrier until I could stand it no more and headed for the buffet car where I found that everyone else had the same idea before me and it was almost stripped bare.
The only thing of any substance left was a solitary Ginsters Sausage Roll. I've heard bad things about them before and I was duly leery of buying it; any meat & pasty based product with a best-before date more than a year in the future is one to be avoided on general principles, I find. I looked at it. It looked at me (less absurd than it sounds, as I'm sure it had more eyeball than actual pork in it). Go on, said my tummy. Feed me! How bad can it be, really?. Beneath the grinding ache of hunger, I cracked, bought it, and consumed it. I can't say that I ate the damn thing, as 'eat' implies there's some degree of nutrition or pleasure involved, and believe you me, there was none.
Under normal circumstances I rather like pork. Take a prime pig, lightly kill it, and serve it up in slices or huge lumps slathered in crackling and I'm your man. But this...this vile turd-in-a-bun was undoubtedly the single most unpleasant thing I can remember devouring in my entire life. It had as much in common with a dead pig as I do. In fact, given the photograph of me asleep with my top off which I know is out there somewhere, I think I've more in common with a dead pig than the supposedly 'pork' sausage. Jesus. I can still taste it now, and I shudder to do so.
Something I've found when I eat crap food with a lot of fats and short-chain sugars and not much else in it is that I start to feel awful very quickly. I get a fuzzy, sore head, like the early symptoms of a cold. I sometimes wonder if that's how the McDonalds-dining population feel all the time; a bit tired and irritable and finding it hard to think - it would certain explain a lot if so. It was like Ginsters were deliberately adding insuilt to injury; not only had they foisted upon me one of the least edible foodstuffs I've ever encountered, they then made me feel utterly rotten for about twelve hours afterwards. It was an utterly foul, rank, disgusting, repugnant slice of misery which someone with more humour than honesty had described as 'tasty' on the wrapper.
Presumably there are people out there who have eaten and will eat more than one of these things in their life - if there weren't Ginsters would quickly go out of business - and it does make me realise that there's a whole other world out there with which I normally try not to engage. A world in which people see mechanically extruded brown paste as meat. A world in which some people read the words 'tasty treat' and actually believe it.
Well, they're welcome it it. Ugh. I can still taste it in the thick layer of grease adhering to the back of my throat. Never again. Never, ever, again.
The only thing of any substance left was a solitary Ginsters Sausage Roll. I've heard bad things about them before and I was duly leery of buying it; any meat & pasty based product with a best-before date more than a year in the future is one to be avoided on general principles, I find. I looked at it. It looked at me (less absurd than it sounds, as I'm sure it had more eyeball than actual pork in it). Go on, said my tummy. Feed me! How bad can it be, really?. Beneath the grinding ache of hunger, I cracked, bought it, and consumed it. I can't say that I ate the damn thing, as 'eat' implies there's some degree of nutrition or pleasure involved, and believe you me, there was none.
Under normal circumstances I rather like pork. Take a prime pig, lightly kill it, and serve it up in slices or huge lumps slathered in crackling and I'm your man. But this...this vile turd-in-a-bun was undoubtedly the single most unpleasant thing I can remember devouring in my entire life. It had as much in common with a dead pig as I do. In fact, given the photograph of me asleep with my top off which I know is out there somewhere, I think I've more in common with a dead pig than the supposedly 'pork' sausage. Jesus. I can still taste it now, and I shudder to do so.
Something I've found when I eat crap food with a lot of fats and short-chain sugars and not much else in it is that I start to feel awful very quickly. I get a fuzzy, sore head, like the early symptoms of a cold. I sometimes wonder if that's how the McDonalds-dining population feel all the time; a bit tired and irritable and finding it hard to think - it would certain explain a lot if so. It was like Ginsters were deliberately adding insuilt to injury; not only had they foisted upon me one of the least edible foodstuffs I've ever encountered, they then made me feel utterly rotten for about twelve hours afterwards. It was an utterly foul, rank, disgusting, repugnant slice of misery which someone with more humour than honesty had described as 'tasty' on the wrapper.
Presumably there are people out there who have eaten and will eat more than one of these things in their life - if there weren't Ginsters would quickly go out of business - and it does make me realise that there's a whole other world out there with which I normally try not to engage. A world in which people see mechanically extruded brown paste as meat. A world in which some people read the words 'tasty treat' and actually believe it.
Well, they're welcome it it. Ugh. I can still taste it in the thick layer of grease adhering to the back of my throat. Never again. Never, ever, again.
