When I wrote earlier this week about Jean Christophe Novelli's Orangina smoked salmon terrines and Ferran Adrià's crisp omelettes, I wasn't quite prepared for the unholy creations it would inspire below the line from Word of Mouthers.

Nigel Slater's infamous salmon and tomato juice gratin just doesn't come close to some of the gory delights concocted by readers of this blog. Baked bean risotto, Silky1? Most interesting was that, on the whole, these were no hurried affairs; they were considered, familiar (at least to their authors), and cherished dishes. I decided to make some of them and feed them to volunteer reviewers. In doing so, I devised what I thought would be the most unspeakable menu ever written.

For canapés (above) we ate ocozinheiro's cream cheese, crunchy peanut butter and celery sandwiches, anchovy popcorn from greenglassbeads, kiwi with kipper, and dried pasta shells with smooth peanut butter from epinoa and the ever-inventive greenglassbeads respectively.

Confounding all expectations, few of these were actively bad. Yes the sandwiches were sticky and confused, a sot's tramezzini, and yes the dried pasta peanut butter shells – playfully seasoned with smoked salt – made your skull ache, but generally it was a good start. Anchovy popcorn was delightful (and so trendy!), and kiwi and kipper wasn't so far from cucumber and smoked salmon. An auspicious start.

Pasta with ham, mayonnaise and pineapple Photograph: James Ramsden

In true student style, the starter of pasta (farfalle, if you're asking, or action man bow ties to you and me) with wafer-thin ham, mayonnaise and, naturally, pineapple, was cooked in a pan only just large enough to house its contents. It was therefore starched and claggy, and yet – and yet – somehow it almost worked. Until you got a mouthful of pineapple, at least, it was really just a (very) poor man's carbonara.

Curried sardine on porridge. Photograph: James Ramsden

The fish course. The aptly named Kemist's Porridge with curried sardines was a triumph. I marinated fresh sardine fillets in cumin and coriander and various other spices, cooked the porridge in chicken stock, fried the sardines for a minute or so, chucked a handful of chopped parsley into the porridge and served the lot with amaranth and coriander shoots. It rocked. Suck it, Heston.

Sausage crumble with cabbage, raisins and milk. Photograph: James Ramsden

On to the main course. I'd hoped this would be quite delicious, despite the fact that Angloswede reckoned it was the worst thing their "creative" father had ever cooked. Sausage crumble – sounds good, no?

No. Dry and mealy, it tasted like something that had been cooked in the 70s. One volunteer barely touched it, pushing it to the edge of his plate and leaving it there. In a supporting role the cabbage with raisins and milk was very repeatable, but it was let down by the lead. Crumble is best left for pudding.

Blackberry and turnip pie. Photograph: James Ramsden

And pudding was where things got interesting. Up until this point almost everything had been perfectly edible, if not necessarily advisable. The blackberry and turnip pie, however, lowered the lunch bar somewhat.

Actually it was supposed to be blackcurrant, though (with apologies to BriscoRant) I'm not sure that would have made much difference. "Horrendous," spat one taster. And it was horrendous. Each mouthful came with such promise – sweet, sour blackberries, crisp pastry, and then the unmistakable waft and thump of savoury, peppery, ever-so-slightly faecal turnip. "I did think the molecular earthiness of turnip complemented a similar tone in the blackcurrants" said BriscoRant of his creation "It's a bit like eating pudding after a Sunday roast and then burping," said our reviewer.

Petits fours: Monster Munch with Maltesers, Pringles with Nutella, tinned peach with chilli sauce. Photograph: James Ramsden

Petits fours – for what is the world's most horrific menu without something sweet to cap it off? – were an erm, interesting combination of Pringles with Nutella, Monster Munch with Maltesers, and tinned peach with chilli sauce.

The Pringles aside, which were edible enough (well done, inthefurness), these were more tricks than treats. Sorry ginandcrumpets, but pickled onion was a cruel demise for a choccie as fine as a Malteser, and GFpiemaker's peach and chilli sauce was, for me at least, almost the worst combo of all.

Truffle surprise: coronation chicken with Dairy Milk. Photograph: James Ramsden

Which was surprising. Because awaiting us at the end of this gastronomic ordeal were my extra-special "truffle surprises". One reader had confessed to a fondness for putting Dairy Milk in their coronation chicken, and so little chunks of the most roughshod curried chook were dunked into melted milk chocolate.

"It's a revelation!" exclaimed one diner. And it did sort of make sense. Chocolate and chicken work, and chocolate and spices work. The very dish that I expected to herald copious, extravagant vomiting from my second-floor window turned out to be the highlight of the day. Stand up UndyingCincinnatus and take a bow, for it is surely just a matter of time before you're standing betwixt the great speccy one and the small Spanish one spherifying and foaming.

Which leaves me just to thank you all for your inspiration. I have learned much with this experiment – that few combinations are entirely absurd, that most people will eat just about anything in the name of experimentation, and that a turnip should never, ever go anywhere near a blackberry pie.