Friday, November 9, 2012

Custard Smustard.


For some reason on this trip I was haunted by custard. People seemed oblivious to the trauma of my childhood and took pleasure in tormenting me.


I am sure that modern custard is lovely and that people everywhere travel miles just to get some but custard on the farm was a cruel and unusual punishment. It was like sweetened scrambled eggs that my grandfather insisted on putting jam on. I have nothing against sweetened eggs when they are added to flour and chocolate chips etc but come on people ... on their own? THAT is just wrong.


And I frankly don't care how pretty Pinterest makes them look on their pages because I have played that game too ... where they lied and told us to close our eyes and they were giving us something nice ... and it always turned out to be a spoonful of cod liver oil.

Is it any wonder we grew up to be bitter and twisted and living on fast food?

I blame the prairies, my grandparents and chickens for allowing people to bastardize a perfectly good food.

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