Do you eat people? I understand that it is usually socially unacceptable, but I suppose that it must be necessary sometimes (see the Donner Party). On the other hand, we sometimes eat people because we’re crazy criminals, like Jeffrey Dahmer, or because we’re high off of bath salts, like the face-eating guy in Florida (where else?) (Sorry Florida, but you make it so hard to be nice).
Well, quite recently, I had the opportunity to take part in this taboo tradition…sort of. So, don’t worry too much. In this particular experience, I, had biblical characters (in the forms of legumes) in my mouth. This was odd, as this very rarely happens to me. Let me elaborate on my time with this humanoid home cookin’. I was given by my colleague an odd can with Chinese font on it claiming to be Adlay Oatmeal Deluxe. It was shaped similarly to a can of Ching Poo Luong, with the same foldable spoon kept under the lid. By the way, this utensil will become increasingly common over the next several articles. Anyhow, I examined the can, as the provider of the odd container listed off some of the ingredients.
“There’s Job’s Tears (also known as Adlay), Devil’s Tongue (also known as voodoo lily), and Mung beans,” he said.
At this point, I immediately interrupted him and inquired about Job’s tears. For some reason, Devil’s Tongue didn’t strike me as odd. Sure, Job had many reasons to be sad, but it is a little strange to… well, bottle up 2000+ year old tears and put them in a strange, bean-y soup. Either way, after a short intermission, my other crazy culinary connoisseur and me prepared to consume the contents of the can of Adlay Oatmeal Deluxe. We took the cap off, and I unfolded the odd spoon into it’s full (albeit still diminutive) length. Then, we peeled back the metal top, and observed our nourishment. There were a series of differently shaped bean-like objects, some with black dots on them, all completely blanched. They were submerged in a pale, sort of clear yellow/white liquid. It smelled of beans and stale peanuts. My anticipation turned into anxiety as I brought the now full spoon up to my mouth. The florescent lighting above me bounced off of the liquid, illuminating the pallid elliptical prisms as spilled onto my tongue. Almost immediately, my taste buds wanted nothing of Adlay Oatmeal Deluxe. I did my best not to gag, and worked even harder not to expel the food completely. It tasted sort of like it smelled: stale peanuts and stale beans rotting away in their own fluids. Because of this, the were mushy, turning into a granular paste as soon as I chewed on them. I was saved by a partially pleasant peanut portion at the end of my experience, but not enough to enjoy it. I hoped it was an acquired taste, one that I would gain after a second try. So, I put the filled spoon in my mouth again. This time, I couldn’t take it. I ran outside, and spit out the strange solvent.
My compatriot wasn’t hazed. He had experienced Ching Poo Luong. Also, he couldn’t smell on that particular day, which certainly was helpful for him.
Long story short, I was miserable when I had Adlay Oatmeal Deluxe in my mouth. I just hope that Adlay Oatmeal Standard is any better. Maybe it has less major religious figures, like demigods, or at least something slightly more recent. Anyways, if you know what is good for you, stay away. Adlay Oatmeal Deluxe is at the same level as Chrysanthemum Drink as far as recommendations go. As a parting sentiment, stay away from cannibalism (and Florida and bath salts) as well.