Bad is going to a restaurant you really enjoy, one that you’d only recently discovered, only to suffer the slings and arrows of food poisoning later that same day. That happened to me five years ago, having enjoyed (whilst eating it) hot-buttered soul chicken at Five Star Day in Athens. It’s particularly bad because any future involvement with Five Star Day will be over-shadowed by the illness.
Worse, however, is cooking dinner for yourself and a loved one, a meal that you thought turned out quite nice, only to realize some hours later that something was terribly amiss. One thing that such sickness provides is plenty of time to ponder the hows and whys, kind of like a culinary CSI. My guess is that I ate some undercooked turkey. Having following the recipe on the back of the pack of filets, I think their estimate of two minutes a side then five minutes to simmer is a bit lacking in the required time department. Luckilly, of the two filets, mine was thicker, meaning that Nikki’s meal was cooked all the way through. And yes, I did check to see if the meat was pink or not. It was not pink. It was white.
Nikki stayed up with me until I don’t know when. She’s wonderful that way. Eventually, I was able to lie down and get something like sleep, provided I was on my stomach and flat as can be. Daksha slept next to me for a bit, though I suspect that was because I was covered in his favorite blanket.
This morning, I’m still feeling … well … tentative is the best word, I think.
Note to self … buy a meat thermometer. Heck, as bad as I felt, you’re all getting meat thermometers for Christmas.
