One quality I wish I didn’t possess is an irrational fear of food poisoning. Once I feel that a food item has gone bad, there is no way I’m going to eat it. Unfortunately, there’s also no way I’m going to take it out of the fridge. It can live in there forever. I purposely did not post about the pepperoni dip that I made before Thanksgiving and finally threw out in late March. (It was a struggle to decide between wastefully throwing out the glass container or opening it to wash it – releasing toxic mold into the atmosphere. Sorry about your lungs, everyone.)
There was a tube of hamburger we bought weeks ago that’s just been sitting in the fridge, not being made into tacos or spaghetti sauce. I was afraid of it – I couldn’t just throw it out or some rat would eat it at the dump and die of food poisoning, and I couldn’t burn it in the fire pit because that would have attracted rabid dogs.
Lloyd mocked me mercilessly.
Lauren (nightly): “What are we going to eat for dinner?”
Lloyd: “Why don’t you cook up that hamburger?”
Lauren: “Are you kidding? It’s been in there for three weeks. Gross.”
Lloyd: “Do you know how long it was in the cow?”
Tonight, I saw my chance. Lloyd was at
dinner with colleges at Olive Garden a meeting, and while he was out I bundled it up in foil and cooked it into an unrecognizable germ-free lump that I can throw out in good conscience.
You’re welcome, vermin. You’re welcome.