I, Chef Gibson, continue on my mission to demonstrate that there is virtually nothing that cannot be eaten. Or at least given a good go, with or without condiments.
My culinary adventures have been relatively limited in recent weeks, but yesterday I felt the urge to branch out onto new trails and indulged myself with a few quick mouthfuls of someone else’s vomit. Sadly, just as I was starting to fully appreciate the complex flavours and really tuck in, She spotted me and pulled me away. There is no justice, no understanding of the needs and drives of the true epicure.
Still, it’s a little something that I can add to my list of experimental cuisine, complementing delicately some long-standing favourites such as poo (mine), poo (other dogs), poo (cat), poo (hedgehog); poo (bags); sticks; stones; acorns; paper; remote controls (various); grass; daffodils (poisonous, who knew?); bark (tree, not dog, obvs!); unripe blueberries (stolen); and assorted garden plants whilst helping with pruning.
