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Certified Legendary Thread Covid, Life, UFOs, Food, & Wordle :( Part 2

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I have a headache.

No idea how it happened.
 
Obese Arachnid said:
I have a headache.

No idea how it happened.
Click to expand...
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Christmas day can have some unexpected landmines. In my case, the landmine was decidedly pudding shaped.

My partner's mother insisted on doing her plum pud. With two of her sons there, and me kind of an honorary as a former foster son, she was determined to make her pudding statement on Christmas. As host I graciously deferred prime pudding rights to her.

The trouble was, I had done some work for a nice lady down the street recently and she provided me a plum pudding as a thank you out of nowhere. And made a big thing about wanting me to tell her how the pudding went. So I had to prepare both puddings, but on the basis of, mother in law to be's pudding is THE PUDDING but we also have "spare pudding". Some grumbles but honour was satisfied.

I of course hoe into a nice sized bowl of the mother pudding. Its nice, dont get me wrong, I loved it on those christmases as a foster kid back then. Its a solid good pudding.

But tempted by fate, I stole a bowl of pudding 2 and took a tentative taste.

There are some foods that are known as a byword of excess. I read once a description of the last meal of former French President Francois Mitterand. It culminated with a dish of ortolan - a notorious dish in culinary circles. Basically, trap these small songbirds, force feed them in the dark, drown them in armagnac and then bake them in a cassoulet and serve whole.

The president, knowing he was dying soon, decided to go for broke and ordered ortolan, crunching in the little songbirds while draping a napkin over his head. Tradition says the napkin is there to hide the eater from the judgemental view of God, because the dish is so sinfully exuberant that nobody could eat in in conscience.

Biting into this pudding, I felt I should have a napkin over my head. It was like angels dancing in my mouth. I had been vouchsafed a vision of heaven, and my taste buds died in a sort of tastegasm of pudding richness. I realised I had previously eaten pudding. This was A ****ing Pudding.

I had to downplay of course, my future mother in law's querying eye seeing my reaction and not entirely buying my sligtly noncomittal "its ok."

Then my partner insists on a taste. I see the look on his face. I know that look well; back in my youth, it was the sort of look I saw on more than a few straight mates who decided to "experiment" with me and found their brains could not process how good it felt. He was having a pudding flavoured tastegasm he knew was wrong, a betrayal of family honour and yet, his face told me he too had experienced something that meant he would never me the same again.

Three AM, having had difficulty sleeping due to the fact my stomach was so distended with food I could feel my pulse in my scrotum, I woke to find my beloved missing. Wondering at this I sneak into the kitchen, determined to feast upon the pudding without prying judgemental eyes.

There clustered around the fridge are my partner, my partner's little brother, my son, my partner's dad all scoffing the betrayal pudding and making sounds that would readily grace the soundtrack of a seventies porno. And all looked decidedly unrepentant that they had eaten the last of the pudding leaving me none.

I am ready to tear strips off all of them when my beloved offers me the remains of his huge ****ing bowl. I am slightly mollified. Then the horror.

My future mother in law appeared and asked us what the **** we were all doing here.

We were all lost for words, except my partners little brother, a phenomenon I belatedly remembered from my youth was a bad thing.

"Uhhh...masturbating?"

We all looked at him. Like...how the **** is that what you come up with? And yet...it was less embarassing than the pudding betrayal. And it did the job as she made a disgusted noise and got herself a cup of tea while we all sheepishly spread like an English batsman's stumps trying to hide our bowls from vision.

Now I need to do more jobs for the old lady down the street. I want that recipe. And I am prepared for it to involve satanic rites or three or four endangered species. I don't care. I'll use a napkin if I have to.
 
Ludovico said:
Christmas day can have some unexpected landmines. In my case, the landmine was decidedly pudding shaped.

My partner's mother insisted on doing her plum pud. With two of her sons there, and me kind of an honorary as a former foster son, she was determined to make her pudding statement on Christmas. As host I graciously deferred prime pudding rights to her.

The trouble was, I had done some work for a nice lady down the street recently and she provided me a plum pudding as a thank you out of nowhere. And made a big thing about wanting me to tell her how the pudding went. So I had to prepare both puddings, but on the basis of, mother in law to be's pudding is THE PUDDING but we also have "spare pudding". Some grumbles but honour was satisfied.

I of course hoe into a nice sized bowl of the mother pudding. Its nice, dont get me wrong, I loved it on those christmases as a foster kid back then. Its a solid good pudding.

But tempted by fate, I stole a bowl of pudding 2 and took a tentative taste.

There are some foods that are known as a byword of excess. I read once a description of the last meal of former French President Francois Mitterand. It culminated with a dish of ortolan - a notorious dish in culinary circles. Basically, trap these small songbirds, force feed them in the dark, drown them in armagnac and then bake them in a cassoulet and serve whole.

The president, knowing he was dying soon, decided to go for broke and ordered ortolan, crunching in the little songbirds while draping a napkin over his head. Tradition says the napkin is there to hide the eater from the judgemental view of God, because the dish is so sinfully exuberant that nobody could eat in in conscience.

Biting into this pudding, I felt I should have a napkin over my head. It was like angels dancing in my mouth. I had been vouchsafed a vision of heaven, and my taste buds died in a sort of tastegasm of pudding richness. I realised I had previously eaten pudding. This was A ****ing Pudding.

I had to downplay of course, my future mother in law's querying eye seeing my reaction and not entirely buying my sligtly noncomittal "its ok."

Then my partner insists on a taste. I see the look on his face. I know that look well; back in my youth, it was the sort of look I saw on more than a few straight mates who decided to "experiment" with me and found their brains could not process how good it felt. He was having a pudding flavoured tastegasm he knew was wrong, a betrayal of family honour and yet, his face told me he too had experienced something that meant he would never me the same again.

Three AM, having had difficulty sleeping due to the fact my stomach was so distended with food I could feel my pulse in my scrotum, I woke to find my beloved missing. Wondering at this I sneak into the kitchen, determined to feast upon the pudding without prying judgemental eyes.

There clustered around the fridge are my partner, my partner's little brother, my son, my partner's dad all scoffing the betrayal pudding and making sounds that would readily grace the soundtrack of a seventies porno. And all looked decidedly unrepentant that they had eaten the last of the pudding leaving me none.

I am ready to tear strips off all of them when my beloved offers me the remains of his huge ****ing bowl. I am slightly mollified. Then the horror.

My future mother in law appeared and asked us what the **** we were all doing here.

We were all lost for words, except my partners little brother, a phenomenon I belatedly remembered from my youth was a bad thing.

"Uhhh...masturbating?"

We all looked at him. Like...how the **** is that what you come up with? And yet...it was less embarassing than the pudding betrayal. And it did the job as she made a disgusted noise and got herself a cup of tea while we all sheepishly spread like an English batsman's stumps trying to hide our bowls from vision.

Now I need to do more jobs for the old lady down the street. I want that recipe. And I am prepared for it to involve satanic rites or three or four endangered species. I don't care. I'll use a napkin if I have to.
Click to expand...
Hope you share the recipe.
Haven’t had a decent pudding in ages.
 
Ludovico said:
Christmas day can have some unexpected landmines. In my case, the landmine was decidedly pudding shaped.

My partner's mother insisted on doing her plum pud. With two of her sons there, and me kind of an honorary as a former foster son, she was determined to make her pudding statement on Christmas. As host I graciously deferred prime pudding rights to her.

The trouble was, I had done some work for a nice lady down the street recently and she provided me a plum pudding as a thank you out of nowhere. And made a big thing about wanting me to tell her how the pudding went. So I had to prepare both puddings, but on the basis of, mother in law to be's pudding is THE PUDDING but we also have "spare pudding". Some grumbles but honour was satisfied.

I of course hoe into a nice sized bowl of the mother pudding. Its nice, dont get me wrong, I loved it on those christmases as a foster kid back then. Its a solid good pudding.

But tempted by fate, I stole a bowl of pudding 2 and took a tentative taste.

There are some foods that are known as a byword of excess. I read once a description of the last meal of former French President Francois Mitterand. It culminated with a dish of ortolan - a notorious dish in culinary circles. Basically, trap these small songbirds, force feed them in the dark, drown them in armagnac and then bake them in a cassoulet and serve whole.

The president, knowing he was dying soon, decided to go for broke and ordered ortolan, crunching in the little songbirds while draping a napkin over his head. Tradition says the napkin is there to hide the eater from the judgemental view of God, because the dish is so sinfully exuberant that nobody could eat in in conscience.

Biting into this pudding, I felt I should have a napkin over my head. It was like angels dancing in my mouth. I had been vouchsafed a vision of heaven, and my taste buds died in a sort of tastegasm of pudding richness. I realised I had previously eaten pudding. This was A ****ing Pudding.

I had to downplay of course, my future mother in law's querying eye seeing my reaction and not entirely buying my sligtly noncomittal "its ok."

Then my partner insists on a taste. I see the look on his face. I know that look well; back in my youth, it was the sort of look I saw on more than a few straight mates who decided to "experiment" with me and found their brains could not process how good it felt. He was having a pudding flavoured tastegasm he knew was wrong, a betrayal of family honour and yet, his face told me he too had experienced something that meant he would never me the same again.

Three AM, having had difficulty sleeping due to the fact my stomach was so distended with food I could feel my pulse in my scrotum, I woke to find my beloved missing. Wondering at this I sneak into the kitchen, determined to feast upon the pudding without prying judgemental eyes.

There clustered around the fridge are my partner, my partner's little brother, my son, my partner's dad all scoffing the betrayal pudding and making sounds that would readily grace the soundtrack of a seventies porno. And all looked decidedly unrepentant that they had eaten the last of the pudding leaving me none.

I am ready to tear strips off all of them when my beloved offers me the remains of his huge ****ing bowl. I am slightly mollified. Then the horror.

My future mother in law appeared and asked us what the **** we were all doing here.

We were all lost for words, except my partners little brother, a phenomenon I belatedly remembered from my youth was a bad thing.

"Uhhh...masturbating?"

We all looked at him. Like...how the **** is that what you come up with? And yet...it was less embarassing than the pudding betrayal. And it did the job as she made a disgusted noise and got herself a cup of tea while we all sheepishly spread like an English batsman's stumps trying to hide our bowls from vision.

Now I need to do more jobs for the old lady down the street. I want that recipe. And I am prepared for it to involve satanic rites or three or four endangered species. I don't care. I'll use a napkin if I have to.
Click to expand...
Wonderful pudding story... do not tamper with pudding recipes of the female persuasion of advanced years- those of a bygone era usually have suet (FAT) - my sister is still obliged to cook her now deceased mother in law's pudding recipe which contains aforementioned ingredient.

We're visiting said sister tomorrow and she told me she has some pudding for dessert - I'm guessing it contains aforementioned ingredient.

Wife is totally averse to aforementioned ingredient - I'm thinking I'll just shut up and enjoy

I bought a pudding this year but made a cake - 4 ingredients ( I tweaked slightly)

IMG_20251214_121631942.jpg
 

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Ludovico said:
Now I need to do more jobs for the old lady down the street. I want that recipe. And I am prepared for it to involve satanic rites or three or four endangered species. I don't care. I'll use a napkin if I have to.
Click to expand...
Loved this, hope you have more stories to come.
 
jmac70 said:
Just reading about the people rescued yesterday on their new paddle boards.
That’s next level stupid.
Click to expand...
It’s more about a lack of awareness. Put any average person on a SUP 50 mtrs from shore and if wind and tide are against them, they ain’t getting back in.

They did well to stay with the boards
 
jmac70 said:
Just reading about the people rescued yesterday on their new paddle boards.
That’s next level stupid.
Click to expand...
There's easier ways to get from Portarlington to Werribee without a lifejacket.

Maybe they were trying to avoid going through Geelong?

PS - seriously - the rescue services are beyond brilliant
 

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manicpie said:
Yeah, I was a punk through and though. Loved it, especially live at a pub in Melbourne somewhere. We had quite a few local punk bands. There was these 2 bands who used to play in St.kilda, they were called Scum and Depression, lol.
Click to expand...
Hunters and Collectors early.
Depression late.
My fix of both types of music. 😊
(If I remember correctly)
 
sideswipe said:
It’s more about a lack of awareness. Put any average person on a SUP 50 mtrs from shore and if wind and tide are against them, they ain’t getting back in.

They did well to stay with the boards
Click to expand...
Agree, complete lack of awareness. Not wearing life jackets is very silly. Amazing that they were able to hold on for so long.
 
Last edited:
WanderingDude said:
Hunters and Collectors early.
Depression late.
My fix of both types of music. 😊
(If I remember correctly)
Click to expand...
The prince of Wales hotel was the best. Scum followed by depression. I saw Hunters and collectors so many times. Great days
 
manicpie said:
The prince of Wales hotel was the best. Scum followed by depression. I saw Hunters and collectors so many times. Great days
Click to expand...
Hunters at the Espi. The Slab, early days. The band was so good live. Loved the brass section.

Prince of Wales for punk bands, Depression is the one I remember. There were many bands and nights.

So good. Why do it only once?
 
WanderingDude said:
Hunters at the Espi. The Slab, early days. The band was so good live. Loved the brass section.

Prince of Wales for punk bands, Depression is the one I remember. There were many bands and nights.

So good. Why do it only once?
Click to expand...
Do you remember the venue just up the road from the Espy? I saw a lot of good bands there. The Sunnyboys used to light the place up.
 

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