dad makes a shepherd’s pie, and call it “desperate dan’s cow pie” after a charcter in a comic book he read as a child.
Ike, when I read your post, I read “deep fried rat balls.”
“Now there,” I thought, “is a mom I’d like to have!” 
My father didn’t have nicknames for actual meals so much as he did for condiments:
Worcestershire Sauce = “Rooster Poot” (I still use that one)
Butter = “Butt”
Mustard = “Mussa-turd”
Vinegar = (um . . . well . . . I hesitate to admit this one, but perhaps the fact that my father was a Black man will get me out of jail free, here . . . ) “Big N****r”
Hey would ya pass me a little whatsthishere sauce?
Sure.
::reaches for Rooster Poot::
When my kids were little, I would get so tired of the " Whats for dinner?" question, I just kept answering " SHIT…but, it tastes like crap" They still talk about that one.
When their uncle Gordy let them stay overnight, the next morning he would make " waffle kauffles", which was simply frozen waffles topped with syrup mixed with peanut butter. You would have thought he was a gourmet chef, the way my kids raved.
And, of course, I think we have all served “basketti” to our kids.
Is that anything like paskooty? This was often served with feetballs in our house.
El Hubbo’s family calls 'em Chork Pops.
Boneless turkey breasts somehow became ostrich.
And my wife makes breaded chicken breasts that the kids love. It’s just plain old breaded chicken breasts, but we’ve come to call it “chicken with the stuff on it.”
Hmmm… the only ones I can think of are:
Piggy Soup - pea and ham soup
Horse Doovers - hors d’oeuvres
And when we asked Mum what was for dinner, she’d always say “Duck under the table”. We didn’t get it, and she doesn’t know what it means either (her dad used to say it), but I figure it’s a reference to Duck Under Glass. (??)
another trip to the store, it’s the weekend and I have my son. Months ago we tried this bottled chocolate milk. It was GOOD! So rich and smoothe. I told him it was homogenized rats milk. He liked it a lot. It’s safe, made only from the purest milk from certified lab rats. I warned him about feral rats, very poor quality milk, too gamey. The reason it has cows on the label is because they are angry cows, angry because this milk is better.
Ketchup has always been the “delicate red sauce” at my house. (Of course, that doesn’t work now, because my younger brother enjoys the disturbing green ketchup and has it all the time.)
Pasta has somehow evolved into “potta potta porcupine.”
“Toast butter-dab” is simply toast with butter.
“Skinny pancakes” or “skinny pans” are just crepes.
Yummy.
While having dinner with friends, some vegetables were served, and their son, asked me “what is this?”, holding up a sprig of cauliflower.
My answer was, “John, that is a stewed ferret brain-they’re yummy!” and tried to snatch it from his fork.
His parents thought I was wrong for telling him that, but he eats his veggies, and I’m his favorite crazy uncle. 
My 3 year old will ask “what’s that?” when eating anything. Usually, when he’s eating some sort of hamburger type food, my husband will answer him with “a lump of dead animal that was probably tortured before it was killed.” The boy will just calmly say “oh,” as if now he understands all, and happily continue eating.
Ooh, and I forgot to add. The same 3 year old was eating octopus balls one day (that’s octopus breaded and grilled or fried? I don’t know how they make it exactly…) and my husband asked him “what’s that?” and his proud answer was “that’s my balls, daddy.” My husband said “you’re eating your balls?” and the boy said “yup. I like eating my balls.”
As my father taught me, so I teach my offspring:
Soy sauce = bug juice.
maraschino cherries= “whale’s eyeballs”
Whooh, that’s another Dogzilla-type child protection services story waiting to happen right there… :eek:sweatdrop
My mom used to call milk “cow pee” and I still don’t drink it to this day. ::shudder::
My niece was skeptical about some veggie beef soup, so my mom told her it was “Lizard Toe Soup” and she ate it right up.
Chicken noodle is “Spider Leg Soup”. She eats that, too. She’s 4, by the way.
This is really MY post. CelticCowboy doesn’t even have any nieces!