For a period of approximately two years, I subsided, more or less, on Ramen noodles exclusively. Maybe the occasional Chef Boyardee meal cold or a smushed lunch from the nearby college commons courtesy of a smuggler friend, but on the vast majority, instant noodles and a disturbingly high sodium level dominated my culinary palette.
Price you pay for leading a double life as both tramp and troubadour, I suppose.
The most direct consequence (beyond the ability to downshift into "battle conditions" and survive for weeks on end with nothing but water and dry Ramen bricks) is my stomach's ultimate resilience to all things placed inside it. I can, whenever presented with the opportunity, literally pig the fuck out and never feel worse for wear. I can stuff my body with all kinds of grease-laden, push-cart bought nasties from any number of less-than-savory purveyors with a smile and have, in fact, developed a taste for same.
I once described my taste in food to a friend as "anything a corrupt private detective would pad their expensive account with."