17 Foods People Try Once and Refuse to Repeat

Some foods demand bravery, and not everyone is ready for round two. The smell, texture, or sheer shock can make you say thanks, but never again.

You get curious, you try a bite, and suddenly you understand why people warn first-timers. Here are the one-and-done legends folks taste once and retire forever.

1. Durian

Durian is legendary for dividing a room. The custardy flesh can taste like almond custard to some, but the powerful odor announces itself from a block away.

You psych yourself up, hold your breath, and still the smell sneaks in.

One bite can be lush and sweet, yet heavy, almost onion-garlic sweet. Texture lovers may swoon while others gag instantly.

You respect the culture, admire the confidence, and quietly decide once is plenty.

2. Natto

Natto looks innocent until the strings stretch like mozzarella meets spider silk. The fermented soybeans smell nutty-sharp, and the first stir makes it even stickier.

You add mustard and soy, trying to be brave as the threads cling.

The taste is savory and funky with a coffee-like bitterness. Texture steals the show though, gooey and persistent.

You appreciate the probiotics and heritage, swallow a second bite for fairness, then kindly bow out forever.

3. Century Egg

Century egg is stunning, like edible stained glass. The clear amber “white” trembles, and the green-gray yolk looks like velvet.

Aromas hint at sulfur and umami, preparing your brain for something entirely new.

The flavor delivers deep, mineral richness with a slight ammonia whisper. Texturally, it is jelly-meets-cream, which either delights or alarms.

You nod respectfully, taste traditions across centuries, and decide the memory is enough.

4. Hákarl (fermented shark)

Hákarl arrives in tiny cubes that carry a big reputation. The smell hits first, sharp like a cleaning cabinet you opened too fast.

You steel yourself, thinking of Icelandic fishermen and survival history.

The bite is rubbery, intensely fermented, with ammonia that blossoms up your nose. You chase it with brennivín, eyes watering, proud and slightly stunned.

It is a badge you wear once, then retire with honor.

5. Surströmming

Surströmming is a team sport, ideally opened outside downwind. The can bulges, the lid hisses, and the aroma announces itself like a foghorn.

You assemble the classic sandwich, hoping the trimmings tame the storm.

The taste is salty, deeply fermented, oceanic to the core. Texture is soft, almost creamy, set against crisp onions and potatoes.

You earn the story, capture the photo, and decide your future picnics will smell gentler.

6. Balut

Balut challenges more than the palate. Cracking the shell reveals broth, yolk, and a developing duck that asks you to rethink comfort zones.

You season with salt and vinegar, take a breath, and sip.

The flavor is rich, deeply savory, almost like slow-cooked poultry soup. Texture varies bite to bite, from velvety yolk to tender structures.

Respect runs high, curiosity satisfied, and many decide their courage quota is met.

7. Rocky Mountain oysters

Rocky Mountain oysters sound charming until someone explains the ranch reality. Breaded and fried, they smell inviting, like any bar snack would.

The first chew is tender, slightly bouncy, with a minerally note.

Once the truth lands, your brain goes quiet, then loud. Some laugh and order another round; many push the plate away, done forever.

Curiosity fulfilled, joke complete, and now you read menus very carefully.

8. Tripe

Tripe looks like quilted coral, beautiful and strange. In menudo or trippa alla romana, the broth sings with spices and tomatoes.

Then the bite arrives, springy and just a little squeaky.

When perfectly cooked, it is tender-chewy comfort. When not, it is rubber that fights back.

For many, that texture is the deal breaker, even if the sauce is unforgettable. You finish the broth and retire the spongey star.

9. Chicken feet

Chicken feet taste better than they look, rich with braised sauce. But the eating style requires work, navigating skin, cartilage, and tiny bones.

You nibble, fold, and spit bones gracefully, or try to.

The flavor rewards patience, yet the gelatinous skin can spook newcomers. Some get hooked on the ritual; others tap out politely.

You respect the craft, sip tea, and choose dumplings next round.

10. Pickled pig’s feet

Pickled pig’s feet are old-school deli legend. The jar gleams with vinegar brightness, and the meat jiggles with collagen.

You brace for tang and nostalgia, then dive in.

Flavor is sharp, salty, undeniably porky. The texture, though, is slippery-gelatinous with bits that never quite melt.

If you love pickles and aspic, it clicks. If not, one bite writes the final chapter, and the jar returns to the shelf.

11. Liver

Liver has fans who swear by iron-rich goodness. Onions, butter, and a quick sear try to tame the intensity.

Still, that metallic bite and custardy-soft center can overwhelm newcomers instantly.

The texture walks a thin line between silky and mushy. Overcooked, it turns chalky and bitter.

Under, it melts into savory pudding. You taste the nutrition and history, nod respectfully, and decide your vitamins can come another way.

12. Blood sausage

Blood sausage arrives in inky links, glossy and proud. The aroma is warm and spiced, promising comfort with a twist.

First bite is rich, iron-laden, and deeply savory, like stew condensed into a coin.

Texture ranges from crumbly to pudding-like, which can surprise. Without growing up on it, the iron note reads intense.

You respect the thrift and tradition, finish a few slices, and move on to lighter fare.

13. Casu marzu

Casu marzu is the dare whispered among cheese lovers. The paste is soft, runny, and wildly aromatic, far past blue’s polite funk.

You steel your nerves, spread a bit on bread, and commit.

The flavor is volcanic dairy, spicy and animal, with heat that blooms. Texture slides and tingles, an experience as much as a taste.

You swallow triumph and decide your adventurous spirit has reached its summit.

14. Bitter melon

Bitter melon does not apologize. The emerald crescents look refreshing, but the first bite declares itself loudly.

Under the garlic and egg, a stubborn bitterness stays and builds.

Some find it cleansing, almost medicinal in a good way. Others feel their taste buds wave a white flag.

You admire its honesty and health halo, then decide you prefer your greens slightly friendlier.

15. Vegemite or Marmite (too thick, first time)

Vegemite and Marmite are about restraint. First-timers often spread them like peanut butter and meet a wall of salt and umami.

The correct move is a whisper-thin smear over buttered toast.

Even then, the concentrated yeast punch can shock. It is brisk, savory, and unrelenting when overdone.

You learn the lesson, salute breakfast traditions, and keep the jar for braver mornings.

16. Sea urchin (uni) when it’s not super fresh

Great uni is ocean custard, sweet and briny. Not-so-fresh uni is low tide in edible form, and that memory brands itself.

The scent warns you, but curiosity sometimes wins.

Texture turns from silky to grainy, with bitterness creeping in. You swallow politely, sip ginger tea, and vow to trust the chef next time.

For many, there is no next time, just stories.

17. Escargot for the texture alone

Escargot arrives swimming in garlicky butter, which smells like heaven. Then the snail itself takes the stage, tender yet slightly springy.

Some compare it to mushrooms; others say pencil eraser in couture.

Flavor rides on butter and herbs, which is wonderful. Still, the chew can be decisive.

You mop the dish with bread, savor the sauce, and decide the stars can remain extras.