When You See What This Graduate Does Next, You'll Never Look At Quorn Vegetarian Family Roast The Same Way Again.

Join us on a journey into the unknown as we ponder Something From The Freezer Section In Sainsburys.

What bought us to this? How has it happened? I feel full. "It's not for you!" they said. "It's for a family. It says to on the box." But I had to know. I had to see... if it was possible.

It's a Russian doll, a folding puzzle box, a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a strange protective plastic film. The questions pile up. Why do this? Is it some egregious, vacant act of self-promotion? Is it some fallacious demonstration of the power of friendship? Is it an act of procrastination? But these questions fall aside, like flakes of protein-rich fungus. The question at the heart of it all is: What is this?

The Quorn Family Roast invites you to imagine a world in which vegetarian food was not shackled to some bullshit idea that veggie food must resemble meat. It invites you to imagine what might have been achieved if those mad food scientists at Quorn had taken a different path. We live in a world where immitation bacon (facon), immitation chicken (ficken), and immitation mince (fince) are as commonplace as they are unappatising. But why must all vegetarian food imitate meat products? It's an affront. Vegetarians don't want to eat meat in the first place. That's why they're vegetarians. Instead, they want to eat something new. Something strange. Something almost unbelievable.

But the designers of the Quorn Family Roast have dared to dream a little bigger. This beast, this loaf of protein, resembles nothing else on Earth. If evolution had deigned to gift us with a creature devoid of limbs, of fur, of internal organs, a creature without a head, that was born wrapped in plastic, then it might have looked a little like this.

Does science's reach exceed its grasp? What, I hear you cry, does this thing taste like? The answer, friends and lovers, is simple.

It tastes delicious.

It has a texture not unlike mozarella cheese, and as it cooks it exudes a salty brown ichor which coats the outside. It is savory in ways that real food can only aspire to. It is like eating McDonalds. It is so perfect that it seems, in some impossible way, to have been photoshopped, even as it sits sizzling in front of your very eyes.

I felt that the only missing component was a generous dollop of mustard. With that, it was ready. I ate it. I ate it all, off a steak knife, like a giant science lollipop. I regret nothing.