The Moth - Food Fiascos: The Moth Podcast

Episode Date: November 21, 2025

On this episode, we celebrate Thanksgiving with three stories of food gone wrong. Because even if you undercook the yams, hey, at least you'll get a story out of it. This episode was hosted by Chloe Salmon. Storytellers: Ellie Tonkin tries to get her mother to make tuna sandwiches the way she likes. Kayleigh Hudson attempts to cook an elaborate meal for her friends. Gabby Shea wants to impress her boyfriend's family with her macaroni and cheese. Podcast # 949 If you've been moved by a story this year, please text 'GIVE25' to 78679 to make a donation to The Moth today. To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

It was just another holiday party until Michelle arrived with a chocolate basque cheesecake. Two rich cocoa's caramelized top, which Michelle claimed to have just whipped together. But the evidence told another story. An empty PC box, a receipt in her purse. All right, Susan, I bought the PC chocolate basque cheesecake. It was just $11. Can you stop true-craming me? Can I have another slice? Try the season's biggest hits from the PC Holiday Insiders Report.

Welcome to The Moth. I'm Chloe Salmon. Every year in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, I start getting inundated with social media posts that feature photos of aspirational feats of culinary wizardry. For this holiday, the food is the star of the show. Expectations are high, and honestly, it's kind of stressful. This year, I propose we all chill out a little. Take a collective breath and say, look, the turkey is probably going to be. kind of dry. Your cousin's new fling may bring an abomination of a mayo-based side, and your new pie recipe might betray you. And you know what? It's okay. Food disasters make for better family

lore anyway. So in this episode, we're leaning out of perfection and into messiness, with three stories of food gone wrong. First up, we have Ellie Tonkin. She told this at a Boston story slam where the theme of the night was Grudge. Here's Ellie. When I was in grade school, most kids got the hot lunch for 25 cents a day. I really wanted to be like most kids. I coveted the American chop suey with green jello and whipped topping for dessert. The sloppy Joes. The Hungarian goulash.

But alas, I couldn't have any of it. Unlike most other kids, my family, unlike most other families in Lemonster, Massachusetts, My family kept kosher, so I brought my lunch. My mother made me peanut butter. I mean, my mother made me tuna fish sandwiches and fluffer nutters. But mostly tuna. That was before we worried about rationing our intake

of mercury-contaminated fish. In fact, it was probably before we'd poised the tuna population to such toxic levels. Be that as it shouldn't be. Day after day, I sat in the lunchroom, surrounded by the sweet smells of hot franks and beans or whatever was the gourmet offering du jour, and I unwrapped my tuna sandwich. It might not have been so bad. I didn't mind the taste of tuna, but I could not stand mayonnaise, the look of it, the texture, the sliminess. So when I was 12,

I finally got up the nerve to ask my mother to please not put mayo in my sandwich. It needs it to hold it together, she said. So I proposed a compromise. How about if you put mayo on the tuna, but you don't spread it on the bread? OK, she said. And I thought we had a deal. The next day, I go to school, sit down in the lunchroom,

pull out my sandwich, and to my horror, there is mayo slathered all over the bread. I am just livid. I cannot believe she would do this to me, As soon as I get home from school, I confront her. Mom, why was there mayo on the bread of my sandwich? It needs it to hold it together, she says, as if for the first time. But you promised the sandwich needs it to hold it together.

I guess it's what you'd call gaslighting now. But whatever you call it, whatever you call it, I was just devastated that she could be so oblivious or indifferent to the betrayal. I really did and still really do dislike mayonnaise, but it was about more than the sandwich. No matter how loud I hollered, it felt like she had me on mute. At around that time, like every other 12-year-old girl I knew, I received a diary for my birthday. I filled page after page with the same three-word sentence. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. Now, I grew up in the kind of family where it went without saying that we all loved each other. Literally, no one in my family ever said, I love you to anyone else in my family.

But we all did, and we still do, and that included my mother and me. But I also really, really hated her with a passion, and it didn't let up. Years later, when I was in my 40s, I was visiting my parents in Lemonster. I should mention that for close to 30 years, I was a mediator with the federal government. I tried to help people have hard conversations about environmental disputes. Anyway, on this particular visit to Lemmonster, my mother asked me a question about myself, and I started to answer, but within about two seconds, she had drowned me out and was talking about something else.

I just erupted in frustration and screamed, You're not listening to me. You never listen to me. I have spent so many decades not being listened to by you that I had to go out and make it my full-time job to get people to listen to each other. She let me finish. And then without missing a beat, she said,

how wonderful I helped you find your career. I used to fantasize about the big blowout scene I'd have with my mother where I'd detail her lifetime of crimes against me. She'd acknowledge what a terrible mother she'd been and beg for my forgiveness. I, of course, would take the high road and tell her not to give it another thought. Needless to say, that conversation never took place. But during the last of my mother's many battles with cancer, I did make my peace with her. And the funny thing is we didn't have any conversation.

I mean, we had lots of conversations, but none of them were about us. They were about her potato leak soup recipe, or whether President Bush or that moron, as she referred to him, was taking us into Iraq. Or how grateful she felt or lucky she felt that she had such good medical care. I knew she was terrified, but she was determined to maintain her deal. dignity. Every day my father and I were there, and every day she was brave. At least as far back as my school lunchroom days, I've understood the power of listening, but I might have underestimated the power of showing up. I never got the sandwich I asked for, but I always got a sandwich, and it was one that was made to hold together. Thank you.

That was Ellie Tonkin. Ellie was a mediator who lived in Brookline, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, she passed away in 2024 a few months after telling this story. She left behind a devoted partner, three siblings, two stepdaughters, and countless friends. The thing I love about Ellie's story is how she found a way to embrace her complicated relationship with her mom and tuna fish sandwiches. over time. I admire when a person is brave enough to say, look, it's complicated, but let me tell you about it anyway. Because often, as is true in this case, being honest about the messiness is exactly what makes a story echo long after it's told. After the break, two more stories of food

gone wrong. Be back in a moment. Hey, it's Christopher Kimball from Milk Street Radio. Sounds like I'm bragging and I am. We're the number one most downloaded food podcast in America. You know, Mill Street Radio travels the world in search of the very best food stories. You'll hear about smuggling eels on the black market, the secret intelligence of plants, and insider tips to eating in Paris. And every week, listeners call in with our toughest culinary mysteries. Discover a world of food stories by searching your podcast app for Mill Street Radio. Welcome back.

We've got two more stories about food disasters for you, both favorites from the archive. first up is Kaylee Hudson. She told this at a Denver story slam where the theme of the night was ambition. Here's Kaylee, live at the moth. So my mom is a great cook. That was kind of wasted on us as kids when we insisted on a diet

of frozen fish sticks, chicken nuggets, and peanut butter on taco shells. But as I got older in high school and freshman year of college and I expanded my palate to include vegetables and meat that did not come from a microwave, I realized, this woman can cook. And so, sophomore year of college, I go back down to school in South Carolina, and I move into an apartment with two of my girlfriends.

I met freshman year. And so we just think, like, it's just so cool. Like, my first time not living at my parents' house or in a dorm, and we have a kitchen. And I decide, you know what? I am going to cook a meal for some of our friends that we haven't seen all summer as a welcome back kick off to sophomore year. I had never cooked a meal before

that did not involve boiling water first and pasta and cheese. That's the only ingredients I really worked with. I was a freshman in college before that. And so I invited them over and I was like, what am I going to make? Okay, well, my mom makes a really, one of my favorite things is a London broil.

I was like, okay, I'm going to make a London broil. Okay, so I call mom, I needed to know exactly how you do this. And she told me, and now I followed it to a tea. Like, I invited people over, like, on Saturday night. Friday, it spent all day marinating in the fridge. And then Saturday morning, it goes in, you know, it goes in and start cooking all day. And then I, like, just cleaned up, and I timed.

I had salad. I had sides. You have, like, a green, I Googled, like, I had a green thing and something else, too. I'm sure. I had a dessert. Like, I had everything. And I'm just like, all right, like, yeah, I'm totally my mother's child. Even though I look, act, talk, and everything else, like my dad, like, I've got this for my mom.

So people come, and I time everything to end, like, right as people get there, too. So, like, I'm thinking, like, oh, I'm hot stuff right now. So people come over, and I'm like, oh, you know, welcome, oh, you know, I'm just finishing up a few things. And I invite them over to come look, as I reveal this beautifully cooked London Royal, the main entree. And I have them gather around, and we go, and I pull it out, and in front of us is, an uncooked, raw, now room temperature, slab of meat, not cooked one bin. So we're all sit there and we stare for a few seconds, and then finally Caroline, sweet, sweet Caroline says to me, as gently as she can. I'm in South Carolina, so I'll put on the accent a little bit, as gently as she can to me.

She's, well, Kaylee, why did you try to cook it in the drawer? And I tell her very matter-factly, oh, no, that's a broiler. And someone else chimes in, it's like, no, that's just the drawer where you, like, store the pans. And I'm like, oh, okay, I've got some dummies for friends. I'll educate someone else now. No, yeah, you keep your pants in there when you're not using it as a broiler. Well, eventually I got, you know, there's some education that happens on my part. And I learned some ovens, that's just a drawer.

So, but in my defense, I grew up, my mom's oven, the only one I'd ever really dealt with until this point, you know, it was, that was a broiler. And that's where you put the raw London broil in, you take a cooked one out, like, at the end of the day. So luckily, we had just a few days before, we had met our, like, cute neighbors. Like, who has cute next door neighbors, like sophomore year of college?

And so one of them had gone to culinary school. So, of course, I'm like, I get to go see the cute neighbors. I have to, okay, I have to ask for help, though, in the kitchen. So I walk over there, and it's like, oh, hey, I don't remember me. My friend tried to make a London broil and I wasn't paying attention and didn't have a chance to tell her, like, that's a drawer. So that didn't hold very long. He was very quickly brought, the truth came out very.

quickly. But he came over, saved the day. So we had a great little entree of something green, probably broccoli, and maybe some celery, who knows, and dessert and everything. And then we had our entree later. He did save the day. And I maybe tried to cook two real meals since. I'm going to be real talk right now. This happened like 11 years ago, 12 years ago. But also, but you would think the most embarrassing part would be that, like, I spent a whole day, like, I had a whole day where I thought I was cooking a London broil in a drawer. But really, honestly, the part that was the hardest to come clean to my friends about was, I told them, like, y'all, about halfway through the cook time per, like, hours in,

per my mom's instructions that I followed, I opened it up, and I flipped it over. No idea. Thank you. That was Kaylee Hudson. She works in accounting in Colorado and enjoys spending time with her partner and her dog, playing ultimate frisbee, and considering the consequences of her Gamecock football devotion. After this story first aired, Kaylee's mom called her to say that she was only supposed to broil the meat for four minutes. on each side. Not ours. Kaylee got to put her new knowledge to the test in 2023 when she and

her friends decided to give a redemption London royal ago. 18 years after that first disastrous attempt, they nailed it. Our next story is from Gabrielle Shea, who told it at a New York City story slam. Here's Gabrielle, live at the moth. In my teens, you couldn't tell me anything. I swore that I was a chef extraordinaire. Granted, I was cooking for myself and my brother, but up here, my cooking was the bomb. My specialty of choice was baked macaroni and cheese.

Now bear with me as I share this recipe. Step one, pull a box of mac and cheese out of the cabinet. Step two, cook according to packaging. directions. Step three, place said mac and cheese in a baking dish and top with an even layer of cornflakes. Now I'm going to give you all a moment to clutch your pearls because I now realize that that is blasphemy. And step four, bake until cornflake topping is golden brown. Now my black card should have been revoked for that. Okay?

In high school, I hung out with friends all the time. I went to one friend's house one afternoon, and her mom had just finished making dinner. She asked me if I wanted some baked mac and cheese. Now, as a lover of food, I was not going to turn her down. Plus, I wanted to see if her version matched up to mine. So as she plated, I decided to share my recipe. I'm going through it and I'm a little cocky, a little overly confident.

So I can't realize, I can't understand why they're looking at me like I'm crazy. So before I get through it, she shoves a forkful in my mouth. And when I tell you, those flavors exploded, I thought to myself, is this real cheese? Cheddar? Mozilla? It was so creamy and so smooth. It was truly a life-changing experience.

So my friend's mom felt pity for me, took me under her wing, and that day taught me how to make real baked macaroni and cheese. Fast forward a few years, and I meet this guy. Frank and I dated for a while. It got serious, and he decided that he was going to that he was going to introduce me to his family. I'd already met his mom and his sister,

but there were four other siblings, their significant others, and about 15 plus nieces and nephews. This was a big deal. I was meeting the entire family, and I had to make a good impression. Now, I'm Caribbean, and when we are invited to someone's home,

we cook. We do not do store-bought. It's a cultural thing. Cooking is a sign of love. It's a sign of respect. It's like I'm giving a piece of myself to those that I'm feeding. So it's really important to me. And of course, I decided that I was going to make my new and improved baked macaroni and cheese.

Plus, Frank was Irish. So I wanted to show these white folk how black folk throw down in the kitchen. Now, on Thanksgiving, sides are a very, very important part of the meal. Probably the most important part of the meal, sometimes more than a turkey. Mac and cheese is up there with mashed potatoes, collard greens, candied yams. So if you're going to do it, you got to bring it. And I knew I could bring it. So we get to Frank's sister's house and the introductions start.

Things are going great. He takes my dish and puts it right by the turkey. People start to eat and Frank goes right for my mac and cheese. So I'm watching him across the room and he's eating, but he doesn't look like he enjoys it. I'm a bit confused, kind of offended. He comes over and before I can even get the question. question out, he shoves the forkful in my mouth. I start to chew. I start to gag. I feel like I'm about to throw up, but I managed to swallow. And in that moment, I realize, holy crap. I use sweet and

condensed milk instead of evaporated milk, which is what the recipe called for. Lesson of the day, always taste your food before you serve it, something that I did not do. So I'm mortified. Straight up panic mode. He sees the look on my face and says, babe, I got you. He went and performed some covert black ops extraction mission

and got that mac and cheese off the table without anyone knowing. I was between relief and total embarrassment. Now, I know that they liked me after meeting me, but I guarantee you if they had tasted my banging mac and cheese, they would have loved me. Lucky for me, Frank did not throw in the towel.

He invited me to Christmas dinner, and I knew I had to redeem myself. So what did I do? I made another batch of baked mac and cheese, but this time I tasted it. it to ensure that I use the correct ingredients. We get to his sister's house, another sister, and everyone goes for the mac and cheese. They are loving it, which I knew they would.

One person even says, dang, I can't believe I missed this on Thanksgiving Day. I give Frank this knowing look because we got this little secret. Frank and I end up getting married. Right? He's who I had those three girls with. And 20 years later, my baked mac and cheese is still the most sought after dish on the family dinner table. Thank you. That was Gabrielle Shea.

She's a wife and a mother to three girls. all of whom, no doubt, love her mac and cheese. I so felt for Gabrielle when her dreams of mac and cheese glory were dashed. But I have a sneaking suspicion she redeemed herself later, and now she has a pretty wonderful story to tell about the time it all went wrong. That brings us to the end of our episode. Thank you to our storytellers for sharing with us and to you for listening. From all of us here at The Moth, we hope you'll remember that

even if the food goes terribly wrong, at least you'll get a good story out of it. Happy Thanksgiving, and we hope you'll join us next time. Chloe Salmon is a director at the Moth. Her favorite Moth moments come on show days when the cardio is done, the house lights go down, and the magic settles in. This episode of the Moth podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Janice, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Salinger. The rest of the Moss leadership team include Sarah Haberman,

Christina Norman, Marina Clucay, Jennifer Hickson, Jordanale, Caledonia Cairns, Kate tellers, Suzanne Rust, and Patricia Orenia. The Moth podcast is presented by Odyssey. Special thanks to their executive producer, Leah Rees-Denis. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by their storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, the moth.org.