Why I hate the Nigerian students next door.

Once I lived in an apartment that was next door to an Korean barbeque. I’d come home from work and the grilled meat smell would immediately start my stomach grumbling. It was torture.

Absolutely true, especially when the torturers are barbecuing. No matter how wonderful my just-cooked lovely dinner smells, and will taste, when someone is barbecuing in the neighbourhood, I want to toss out my dinner, and go eat with them.

Must buy barbecue. Must cook outdoors. Must torture neighbours too!

OK, so you think of something quintessentially Austrailian, like roast chicken. . .

Awww, you know.

Tris

How about deep-fried candy bars?

I thought deep fried candy bars was a Scottish thing.

‘Deep fried Mars bar’ was invented in Scotland, at The Haven (now Carron) Fish & Chip Shop in Stonehaven.

All this talk of food is making me hungry. :slight_smile:

A Mexican family rented the apartment upstairs from an office where I worked, and they started making dinner every day about 4:00, a full hour before the office closed. Everyone would sit there at their desks, salivating at the wondrous smells wafting down to us. It was torture.

Fortunately, it also inspired me to learn to cook decent Mexican food.

A few years ago, I lived upstairs from two guys from Afghanistan. Boy, did they cook. I have no idea what it was, but it made the whole building smell good.

I’ve heard that in many parts of the world that grain that Americans call corn (maize) is not considered food fit for humans but is instead considered animal fodder. Anyone know if this is at all true?

(Laughing Lagomorph, who has not travelled widely)

Secondhand, anecdotal info here, but my best friend had two German exchange students living at her house for several months. When her mom served corn with dinner, they recoiled, and explained that corn is food for pigs, not people.

That’s a bit odd. Most Germans I know (family and friends) have no objection to corn, and at least half of them come from traditional country stock. In fact, I will never forget the one time I had pizza in Germany - the toppings included individual corn kernels, which I’ve never seen here in the US despite the slew of things normally available here.

Now that I think about it, I wonder if it was corn-on-the-cob, or canned corn. I never thought to ask. Do you think on-the-cob might be perceived differently?

I distinctly remember her telling me about this incident, because it surprised her at the time. I know that one of the students was from a filthy rich family, apparently one of the richest in Germany. Maybe she was just a food snob, accustomed to better fare than one gets in a middle class American home.

MissGypsy, to be honest, I don’t know what Germans in Germany right now would think of corn on the cob. I can only say for the folks I know here, they either never had any objection or have gotten used to eating it that way. The only complaints I’ve heard about eating off the cob had more to do with dentures slipping. :wink:

Could be that one of the students was in fact a food snob, and decided to show it. I’ve had my share of dealings with folks like that, particularly when they feel that they are somehow scoring points against “American yokels.” :rolleyes:

My wife has told me that her German grandparents were semi freaked out by corn on the cob when they first visited the USA back in the 60’s. It was considered animal food. I think grampa eventually grew to like it.

Don’t even come near my grandmother’s house when she’s baking, don’t ask, you’ll really start hating her… :wink:

The version of this I know is scraps of pie crust with cinnamon and sugar on a baking sheet in the oven.

That’s correct. Corn is a frequent ingredient in salads, on pizza, with chicken etc. nowadays. Some older Germans (and some of their families) have an irrational dislike of corn, however; my speculation is that it derives from the corn bread introduced in the immediate postwar years - corn as a foodstuff being associated in these people’s minds with malnourishment. A related effect applies to rutabaga, which have yet to live down their popular association with the winter of 1916/1917 when they often were the only food available.