By Derrick Knutson
I love leftovers, almost enough to endanger my health.
I should have probably prefaced that statement with an explanation, so here it is:
I recently made some sausage spinach pasta for dinner, which is some pretty tasty stuff, in my estimation.
The recipe states the sausage should be cooked for approximately 15 minutes, or until “done.”
Apparently “done” means it shouldn’t be pink on the inside, which the sausage was after cooking for the prescribed 15 minutes.
Maybe I wasn’t cooking it on a high enough temperature, but the more likely explanation is that my electric skillet I’ve had since college is on the fritz.
It burns food that sits in the middle and lightly toasts comestibles that get spread to the edges.
I usually just move the food around a lot to get it cooked, but after this last meal I might have to reassess my technique or get a new, properly functioning skillet.
I wasn’t the one who noticed the meat was pink; that would be my fiancé, Jill.
She cut one piece of sausage in half with her fork and pointed out to me that it had a lighter hue than fully cooked food should.
Like some ravenous caveman, I had already consumed about half a dozen sausage bits when she made me aware of this potentially dangerous situation.
She, smartly, did not eat the sausage.
I didn’t think much of it, but my stomach took note, as it decided to punish me for the poor meat cooking a few hours later.
I’m assuming that’s what got me sick, anyway. I guess I could have picked up a bug from just about anywhere, but I like to be able to pinpoint the source of my illnesses, if at all possible.
I didn’t feel that stellar for about a day and a half after eating the dish, but I still brought some leftovers to work.
I was at work, sluggishly clicking away on a story on my computer when Jill sent me a text that read, “Don’t eat the sausage!”
I thought to myself, “But it’s so good, the microwave will kill Sam and his nasty girlfriend, Ella, right? It should be safe to eat after a thorough nuking.”
But logic, or more likely the fear of another bout with stomach illness, got the better of me and I decided to forgo leftovers for lunch.
Fear is quite a motivator to stay away from certain things or activities, but I won’t let it get me down.
I’m still going to eat cookie dough with raw eggs in it by the handful because that stuff is just plain delicious.
The risk of food poisoning from ingesting unbaked cookies isn’t enough of a deterrent for me, apparently.
But I’m going to burn all of the meat I cook from now on.