When Swiss entrepreneur Julius Maggi produced the world’s first instant soup named after him in a factory in 1886, his intentions were noble. After all, Switzerland was at the cusp of a burgeoning industrial revolution, jobs were at an all-time high, and people had no time to cook. Maggi’s invention proved to be a boon; you only needed to cook it in boiling water for all of two minutes (though the real fans will know that the sweet spot lies at almost four minutes).
The instant noodle has survived it all – from allegations of lead being present in some of its samples and a temporary ban in India, to going up against rival instant noodle brands, including one by a particularly famous yoga guru.
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Considering the emotional appeal that Maggi commands across multiple generations in and around Asia, any attempt to dilute the OG way of cooking it can be considered blasphemous by legions of worshippers who turn to it for everything, from comfort cooking to an instant meal to midnight snacking.
But that didn’t stop an anonymous Maggi lover from dunking the instant noodles in a milkshake last week, leading to as much virality for the experiment as exclamations of disgust.
This wasn’t even the first time a weird Maggi experiment has gone viral. People have not only cooked it with ingredients you’d never have thought would go together (and often, the end result proves these suspicions) but also stuck these curly noodles into the toilet sink and ran a hair straightener through them.
As a self-proclaimed connoisseur of both – mining through viral trends and whipping up the most comforting bowl of soupy Maggi – I decided to subject myself to three viral Maggi trends to know if it’s just internet hype or whether they can elevate the humble 3AM comfort food to new heights.
I went into this thinking, “Surely, this can’t be that bad?” But now, my ideas on assumptions and truths have been irrevocably shaken.
Experiment #1: Replacing water with Diet Pepsi
Credits to this kind gentleman for nudging me to use Diet Pepsi instead of water to cook Maggi for my first experiment. “The joy of unloading cold Pepsi on a hot pan is something else,” he wickedly says in the viral video with 197k views, and I just couldn’t resist his desi charms after this very moving observation.
Of course, I was worried my pan would end up giving birth to a Frankenstein monster. Thankfully, I can report that the bricks holding my kitchen up are intact and the pan didn’t turn into a fossilised carbon block. But the initial fumes of the evaporating Pepsi, if I can call them that, must’ve definitely made the chimney cuss. The kitchen smelled like I’d burnt sweet petrol.
The final product tasted like a rusted metal rod dipped into a hot cup of coffee – mysterious, extra-terrestrial, and all things trouble. The texture did not betray the taste: blackened, congealed, and the perfect culinary manifestation of sheer sadness if there was ever one. To me, it seemed as if I’d cooked this Maggi on a planet ravaged by apocalyptic winds thick with soot and particulate matter. Hold on, am I describing Mumbai (I live here so I’m allowed to say it)?
Towards the end, I could almost hear my mother’s muted prayers for my fragile guts. Suffice it to say, they were answered because I survived the carbonated ordeal. Or so I tell myself. Maybe the Pepsi is still corroding my gut and I’ll only find out about it six months down the line when it’s laid to complete waste? I’ll report back in that case. That is, if I’m in a position to.
On the scale of grossness and its ability to test the limits of my kitchen tools and the powers holding my digestive system together, I’d rate this 3/10.
Experiment #2: Making a Maggi milkshake with Oreo cookies and chocolate ice cream
The viral Maggi milkshake from last week just had to be put to the test so that I could take a bullet for you, dear reader.
The recipe is simple enough: You cook Maggi in boiling water and then partially dunk the whole thing inside a decadent glass of chocolate milkshake. My take on this was also partly inspired by this very spirited cook’s viral recipe that suggests crushing Oreo cookies into a simmering pot of Maggi, and then topping it with chocolate ice cream.
I first crushed the cookies in Maggi while it was cooking, and blended some more cookies with chocolate milkshake separately. Then I gently poured the noodles into the glass. Some noodles sank to the bottom, having given up all hope in life, whereas some stoic bits stayed afloat.
To say that I almost felt like a sadist doing this would be putting it mildly. If my ears were attuned to a lesser level of frequency, I would’ve heard faint squeals emanating from this hot, chocolate-y mess. My unsophisticated palate, which I thought I’d tortured enough by consuming all things fatty and acidic, was visibly shattered.
To be precise, this goop tastes like pH-balanced puke – the pH bit because it didn’t smell as bad as it tasted. The hot-and-cold contrast would’ve been delightful if my taste buds had died from the previous experiment but unfortunately, I could taste every bit of the horrid mess this was.
It almost felt like a betrayal till the glass was half-empty, and I suddenly found myself enjoying the slimy noodle and crunchy cookie combo. They almost converted me and took me over to the dark side though it felt a bit like pimple popping – gross but oddly satisfying.
This is a comfortable 7/10. Do not let its scandalous visuals betray you. It’s a taste you will feel in your bones if you give it some time.
Experiment #3: Mixing it with curd and making it fine-dine
I found a relatively obscure recipe in the labyrinth that is the internet. It involved cooking Maggi with curd. Lots of curd.
Within hours, it went viral and people believed it defied science. “This is unforgivable, look at that monstrosity yourself,” commented a YouTube user who goes by the name “Spirited Gamer.”
I wonder how “Spirited Gamer” would react if they came across what I had in mind: It made no sense mixing the curd as suggested in the recipe, as it would eventually get diluted and defeat the whole purpose.
And so, hell-bent on rearranging my guts, I cooked the Maggi normally and then gently spread it on a bed of curd. As if the colour contrast wasn’t striking enough, I added green peas, rosemary-toasted hazelnuts and peanuts, and topped the whole deal with a generous helping of blueberry-flavoured Greek yoghurt.
I was obviously going for a fine-dining experience with this one. And fine-dine I did.
Although this was the only aesthetically pleasing Maggi recipe, when the cornucopia of these tropical delights actually hit my tongue, I saw stars. Not because it necessarily stunned my palate (which it certainly did) but because the existence of this project suddenly seemed all too real to me. There are some dishes that, when you take the first bite, you know they will not just upset your stomach but also scar it irreversibly. This curd cornucopia sits at the top of those scarring dishes. All things cold, confused, angry and bitter harmoniously merge here.
All those media dinners and dates where I’d pretended to be a man of refined tastes had led me to this: VICE was quite literally paying me to eat shit. And somehow, I felt like I had peaked in life.
This gets a perfect 0/10. It horribly and perfectly retains the charm of those roasted dry fruits or the silkiness of the curd, and it might also potentially turn you against all things dairy for a while. Perhaps this was the vegan initiation ritual you were looking for?
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