It Came From Chinatown...

Previously on It Came From Chinatown... we explored the mysteries and complexities of a greenish, viscous substance known as Grass Jelly. It was concluded that it came from another planet and was more than likely being sold as a joke. It wasn't, however, all that bad; not good, mind you, just not offensive. It was also, as it turns out, a bit of a soft start to this whole project. Kids, I was not ready for this week's offering; it was the Ivan Drago to my Apollo Creed. Without further adieu, I give you...

Satay Jellyfish



My new motto is this: Always be wary of foods that come in a horrifying bouquet. Particularly if said food is a marinated, dried invertebrate. Here's a closer look at the packaging. Another bad sign? They spelled "jellyfish" wrong (it's one word, not two):



As I peeled off the wrapper, I was filled with the same sense of dread one gets while walking through a bad neighborhood in the middle of the night. Then I was hit with the smell... oh, sweet baby Jesus, the smell... like cat food that's been left out on the porch overnight and then farted on by a squid. We laid them out on a plate; they look so innocent lying there. They're like Damien in The Omen, but much more likely to drive baboons crazy:

And here's a stick all by it's lonesome:

One key detail that you're missing just by looking at the pictures: It was sticky; the jellyfish bits, the stick, the wrapper... everything. It was the same kind of stickiness that you find covering candy apples at a carnival, but with a color and an odor from the deepest, blackest, sub-basements of Hell. I took the first bite:

I was struck immediately by the overpowering taste of old fish. There was a smokiness to it as well that reminded me of beef jerky (if beef jerky was made from human skin and pure evil). Texturally, it was like eating a mouthfull of chewy corn flakes. Put all of that together in your mind for a second... I was eating a fishy, smokey, chewy, cereal that was sticky.

It. Was. Awful.

That is a face of pure misery, folks. At the time this picture was taken, all of the sorrow in the world, every bad dream mankind has ever experienced, every secret shame, every lie told between lovers... it was all in my mouth. It clouded my senses, it choked me and made my eyes water... it was like having a busted sewer line seeping down the back of my throat. It should also be noted, and you can take this as you will, that as soon as we opened the package, our cat went absolutely bonkers from the smell. We offered him a taste, since he seemed so interested, but after a single nibble he walked away with a look in his eyes that implored of us, "Why? What did I ever do to you?"

I too had questions: People actually eat this stuff? Like, on purpose? Do they hate themselves? Or is this a food you're only supposed to give to an enemy? I don't know, specifically, but I think the answer lies somewhere in this photograph, which was taken mere moments after my "just to be sure" second bite:

I'd like to think that that tells you everything you need to know on the subject of satay jellyfish. I can't imagine there's more to it, except for maybe some dry heaving. As for me, the only thing left was to get the taste out of my mouth the only way I knew how:

And with that, another episode of ICFC draws to a stomach-churning, indigestable close. Until next week, of course! Please, pray for me!!!