I remember grandma making some kind of not-recognized-as-food substances and declaring them "continental." One of them had Vienna Sausages (ugh) and, for chirssake, miracle whip and noodles. She also made ghoulash that was...how do I say...horrifying. We tried to feed it to the neighborhood racoons, who approached it with caution until one brave one finally took a bite and, I'm not kidding, started hacking and rubbing it's face and tongue with his front paws.
She had fallen well off her rocker by the time I was old enough to hold a fork. So anytime I hear "continental," I remember my grandma saying, "This is refined food, continental, that's why your
father doesn't like it." No, grandma, dad doesn't like it cause it's shit.
And this.