Sold as an alluring snack, Pot Noodles smell like boiled rats and look like agricultural silage. Each little plastic tub bears the Approved logo of the Vegetarian Society, meaning seductive variations such as Chicken & Mushroom or Beef & Tomato contain neither beef nor chicken. What the manufacturer's have substituted is anyone's guess; the label might as well say Herb Fettuccini with Prosciutto and Smoked Salmon - no one would be any the wiser.

To prepare, remove the foil lid and add boiling water to the fill line. Pour too much water and you've got soup; add too little and you have putty. Either way, it tastes like wallpaper paste. Squeeze in the contents of the mandatory sachet of soy sauce, then go grab a fork (pref. stainless steel) and an old shirt.

About three quarters of the way down, you'll encounter a strange clump. This is Pot Noodle in its natural, uncooked state. Stab it with your fork: do not eat it unless you want to vomit and start all over again.

After you finish, wipe your mouth and peel the small red slithers from the top of your gums. Nobody knows exactly what this stuff is, but for some reason your tongue is never prepared to let it past your teeth and down your oesophagus. Dispose of it as you see fit.