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#TBT to the night I willingly walked into a culinary war crime.
Mom wanted meatloaf — full comfort‑food mode — so off I blasted to the local shop like a responsible adult who definitely wasn’t two spliffs deep contemplating the meaning of life.
She wanted comfort food, so naturally my brain went, “What did Mom feed us growing up?” And then… like a Vietnam flashback… creamed corn.
The original childhood betrayal. The texture of regret. The smell of defeat.
I hated it then. I hate it now. I will hate it in the afterlife.
But did I buy it? Oh, I did. Because apparently I enjoy suffering.
Two bloody bucks for a can of Best Yet — because I refused to pay nearly four quid for Del Monte. I’m not dropping premium money on liquified corn sadness.
Got home, cracked the tin open, and the smell hit me like a slap from God. I swear the corn looked back at me. It had sentience. It knew I was weak.
I texted my brother a photo, told him I was dying. His response? “Better than those veggies ya grow in the garden. Just add lots of pepper and butter.” Pepper and butter? PEPPER AND BUTTER? That’s not seasoning — that’s a hostage negotiation.
It looked like someone had already eaten it once.
A warm bowl of sick.
A yellow puddle of childhood trauma.
The kind of food you serve only if you hate someone or you’re running a prison.
Mom? Delighted.
Happy as a pig in muck.
Ate it like it was Michelin‑starred.
Meanwhile I’m in the corner dry‑heaving and reconsidering every life choice that led me to this moment.
I’m still not over it. I may never be. Anyway, happy Thursday —
go check wedgieontour.com while I file a formal emotional‑damage claim against creamed corn and everyone who pretends it’s edible.
So tell me — what childhood ‘comfort food’ still haunts you to this day?
What food did your family swear was delicious but tasted like emotional damage? I’ve shared my trauma — now what’s the one food you’d happily ban from existence? Let us know in the comments.
I never looked for it...but am glad i found it.
It was delicious 🤤.