JUN 17 - 6:40 AM -- I'm feeling much better, thank you, after poisoning myself the other day with two killer sausages I discovered somewhere in the bottom of my cluttered fridge. I should explain: My fridge -- both of them, one upstairs and another in the cellar -- not to mention a chest freezer in the basement, are veritable cornucopias of long-forgotten and mysterious foodstuffs that would make any sane person shudder, if not run away in panic.
(Photo: Hapless victim shopping, right)
Ever since I met my wife, Nancy, eight years ago, I've been promising her to eat to the bottom of the chest freezer so I might clean and actually defrost the appliance and make it fresh and new again. Then I could fill it back up. Oh, joy!
But in all the years since, I confess I have done nothing to accomplish the daunting task, to the point where the freezer today is so chock full of roasts, bits of chicken, frozen stocks, leftover stews (and, who knows, maybe someone's pet?) that I cannot find room to store even an Aspirin tablet, much less the latest ribs on sale at Loeb.
The fridge is no better. Neither of them.
(Photo left: The crime scene)
Upstairs the main fridge is filled with the usual juices, milk, cheese, and leafy things in the crisper. But the real danger zones are found in the second and third drawers, where meats and whatnot that should go into the meat compartment are tossed because there is no other room. There, sadly, too much food is forgotten ... only to be rediscovered later at a most inappropriate time by a stupid but ravenous Food editor who just wants to stuff his face for lunch at the barbecue.
I know I'd been poisoned twice before. Once, I was flat on my back within 48 hours after returning home from Portugal. I don't know what I ate or where, but I'm pretty certain I was struck down by the dreaded E-Coli bacteria because I was so darned sick. Lying on my back at home in Kitchener at the time, I recall thinking to myself, this is how people die! I was too sick to even leave my bed to see the doctor. Without putting too fine a point on it, there was a lot of bleeding involved.
Gallons of ginger ale and many slices of stale bread later, I recovered to tell the tale. And all was well for a few more years, until I tested a most ill-considered turkey recipe (from a supposed reliable source, I might add) that called for kebab skewers to be threated with marinated chunks of turkey and vegetables -- on the same skewer. Bad idea. The result was, if you wanted turkey to be safe you have to overcook the veggies, but if you wanted the veggies to be edible then the turkey had to be undercooked. Needless to say, I compromised and, once again -- in Ottawa, this time -- I found myself flat on my back, staring helplessly at the ceiling fan turning 'round and 'round ...
My latest episode was entirely my fault. I'm just glad I didn't share the poisonous food with anyone else.
The best-before date said the opened package of sausages was still good. Even though the two remaining brats seemed a bit slimy to my fingers, I figured a few minutes on the barbecue grill would kill any nasties. Heck, I know what I'm doing, huh?
(Photo right: Beware cluttered fridge drawers. This one is clean and sanitized now, thanks to Nancy)
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