I made an Irish spice bag over the weekend. This marked the first time I'd ever tried one. I followed an online recipe to the letter, although I did use Mcdonnels spice bag seasoning mix. My thoughts are as follows:
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This thing is weird. It's very, very strange .I am convinced that whoever conceived of this thing had to have been an obese, gluttonous alcoholic, and the idea came to him whe, stumbling down the cobbles at 2:00AM and being unable to decide whether he wanted to eat KFC, Indian, hot chips or chinese, he bought all of them, mixed them up in a bucket, and ate the mixture directly from said bucket on all fours. This probably went down in the shower cubicle.
Was it bad? No. That's not what I'm saying here. It was actually quite good, admittedly. What I am saying is that this isn't a dish. This is not a creation. This is not any type of cuisine. It's a panoply of soused, late-night-stumble-home-street-food-hankerings-for-a-bit-of-everything. The fact that as a synergy, this somehow miraculously works does nothing to improve the fact that it is completely fucking insane and depraved--a lumbering drunkard's pissed cravings-of-the-ID writ large. It is Ireland's equivalent of Skittlebrau:
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnHF11NsVFw
The spice dog doesn't ask 'what if'? It explicitly states 'I
am. I was
created by a gunted big sweaty fat cunt with a face that looked like it had been nailed to a barn door for a decade, and he was so many pints of the black stuff down the tube when he thought me into existence that he got tossed from O'Malley's for taking a shit in the urinal, and if any part of that bothers you, go eat what he left behind, because that man didn't know what he wanted, which was everything, and I'm here to make sure he and everybody else like him fucking
gets it'.
Would I have it again? Probably. I hate myself for typing that because I've never wanted to dislike something more than this complete fucking I.Q 65 abomination of a thing, frankensteined as it is from a rub-a-dub's late night street cart cravings. This isn't to sing the virtues of the spice bag, understand. All this proves is that I'm a degenerate. I would probably also eat, and enjoy, a bento tray consisting of the beef patty of a big mac, the skin from two wicked wings, some jalapeños, and the topping scraped from a supreme pizza, especially if I was two sheets to the wind after a pub crawl. The fact that I liked it has no bearing on anything.
Edit: I didn't add the curry sauce. There was only so far I was willing to go, or ever will be. I'm not fucking
mad.
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