Food writer Tim Hayward recently posted a truly inspired article about the “pre-eminent British cookery writer of the mid 20th century” Elizabeth David and the way she would make notes throughout cookbooks she would read.  Apparently, sometimes the notes were not all that nice.  Mrs. David eventually came across a recipe that sounded so foul, so wretched that she declared it ‘the most revolting dish ever devised’.

I like giving bizarre dishes a fair shake.  I like being able to find that silver lining in an otherwise overcast sky.  So it was with great relish that I attempted to make the Italian Salad to see if it really was as horrific as had been declared.  This recipe originally came from a copy of ‘Ulster Fare’, a collection assembled by the Belfast Women’s Institute just after the second world war.  I can imagine that food was more than scarce then, and throwing random ingredients of whatever was handy together was much more common.

Here is the recipe in question:

Italian salad
1 pint cold cooked macaroni
½ pint cooked or tinned pears
½ pint grated raw carrot
French dressing to moisten
2 heaped tablespoons minced onion
½ pint cooked or minced string beans

Mix the chopped macaroni and vegetables; moisten with French dressing, flavouring with garlic if liked. Serve on a dish lined with lettuce leaves. Decorate with mayonnaise and minced pimento or chives.

I assembled the needed ingredients, girded my loins and began making this monstrosity.

When all was said in done this was what I had wrought:

The colors are correct, in case you were wondering.  This is actually what the finished dish looks like.  The flavor was something totally indescribable, but I’m going to make an attempt.  I suppose this isn’t a terribly accurate description as I wasn’t able to finish a spoonful, but the combination of the french dressing and the minced onions hit my palate first.  Then, the texture dawned on me–the grated carrot is pulp-like, followed by the gummy pasta, then the mushy pear joins the party before I hit the crunchy green beans.  It’s almost as if the recipe writer decided on trying to hit every key on the texture piano.

At this point I spit out the one mouthful I had tried.  It was too much.  I just couldn’t deal.

Mrs. Davis, you were on the mark.  I don’t think I’ll ever run across something this inedible again in my lifetime, and that includes dirt–at least I hope not.