Would You Order That at 11pm? The 2026 Bushtucker Takeaway Audit
Photo: DronePics.Wales, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
As I'm A Celebrity returns in 2026, the nation will once again watch famous people pretend a blended insect smoothie is a character-building experience. But this is a food website, so the real question is not who wins. It is whether any of that camp kitchen nonsense would survive on a British high street at 11pm on a Friday, when the pubs have shut and the nation is craving something salty, greasy and vaguely recognisable.
So here is the Bushtucker Takeaway Audit. Each notorious camp dish is treated like a potential menu item, compared to a UK takeaway equivalent and scored on spice, texture and Friday-night plausibility. This is not about whether the celebrities can stomach it. It is about whether you would actually pay for it, and whether the answer is yes, no, or call environmental health.
The scoring system
Spice is not just heat. It is the shock of flavour, the bit that makes you sit up and check the menu again. Texture is the make-or-break for takeaway food: too slimy and you are done, too dry and you are reaching for a fizzy drink. Friday-night plausibility asks the only question that matters: if this arrived in a foil tray with a free poppadom, would you eat it while watching something you will not remember the next day?
| Camp dish | Nearest UK takeaway equivalent | Spice | Texture | Friday-night plausibility | Verdict |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Kangaroo testicle | Dodgy kebab-shop meatball | 3 | 2 | 1 | Brave, but not on a menu |
| Witchetty grub | Scampi with the shell left on | 2 | 6 | 3 | Would work as a novelty side |
| Fish eyes | Savoury bubble tea pearls | 1 | 1 | 0 | Absolutely not |
| Crocodile tail | Chicken thigh from a peri-peri place | 4 | 7 | 6 | Could sneak onto a grill menu |
| Sheep's brain | Pork rillettes with a bad attitude | 2 | 3 | 1 | Too much thinking required |
| Bull's penis | Calamari that has seen things | 3 | 4 | 1 | The chewiest thing in the postcode |
| Blended cockroach | A smoothie from a gym that hates you | 1 | 1 | 0 | Not a takeaway, not a drink |
| Camel hump | Slow-cooked beef cheek | 5 | 8 | 5 | Actually sounds quite nice |
| Turkey testicle | Mini scotch egg with a surprise | 3 | 3 | 2 | One bite and you are done |
| Mealworm pasta | Crunchy peanut noodles | 6 | 7 | 7 | The surprise winner |
The dishes that could actually be takeaway
Crocodile tail is the closest thing to a genuine menu item. It is firm, meaty and has enough texture to convince you that you are eating something expensive. A peri-peri chain could sell it as a limited-edition skewer and nobody would blink until the bill arrived. The spice score is four because it needs help. Put it in a wrap with hot sauce and pickled onions and you have got a Friday-night order with a story attached.
Camel hump sounds like a dare until you remember that slow-cooked beef cheek is basically the same idea with better marketing. The texture score is eight, which is higher than most British takeaways manage after a busy shift. If a gastropub put it on a menu with mash and gravy, people would order it and then post about it. The name is the problem. Nobody wants to text a mate and say they are having camel hump for tea.
Mealworm pasta is the surprise success. Mixed into a crunchy peanut noodle dish, it becomes texture rather than horror. The spice score is six because the noodles can carry chilli, soy and lime without the mealworms having to do any heavy lifting. This is the one dish that could survive on a UK high street, probably in a trendy spot with exposed brick and a queue. It is not traditional. It is not subtle. It is, annoyingly, plausible.
The dishes that should stay in the jungle
Fish eyes are the clearest no on the list. The texture is a one, the spice is a one and the Friday-night plausibility is a zero. The closest UK equivalent is savoury bubble tea pearls, which is a sentence nobody needed. No takeaway has ever improved by adding something that pops in a way that makes you question your life choices.
Blended cockroach is not a takeaway item. It is a punishment. The spice score is one because it does not taste of anything you could sell, and the texture score is one because it tastes exactly how it looks. If a restaurant put this on the menu, the environmental health officer would be there before the starters.
Sheep's brain is a tricky one because it is technically food and technically has a high-street equivalent in pork rillettes. But the texture is a three and the Friday-night plausibility is a one. People want takeaway to be comforting, not a philosophical exercise. If you are sitting on the sofa wondering whether the food is thinking back, the meal has failed.
The final ranking
At the top of the takeaway table, mealworm pasta wins on sheer usefulness. It is the only dish that could be rebranded, sold and eaten without a camera crew. Crocodile tail comes second for its grill potential, followed by camel hump for anyone who likes their meat slow-cooked and their menu descriptions deliberately vague.
At the bottom, fish eyes and blended cockroach are locked in a battle for least likely to appear on Deliveroo. They are not menu items. They are telly moments. And that is fine. The jungle can keep them. The UK takeaway scene has enough drama without a side order of surprise.
