I bought some smoked mackerel a little while ago and yesterday, as the cupboard was otherwise bare, I served it up at lunch to accompany a salad. My son took one look at his and asked me if it was meant to have mould on it. That was lunchtime.
Yesterday evening a friend of mine pulled a calf muscle during a tennis match and sadly had to retire. He's ok by the way but off games for a bit.
Why are these two things connected? Read on.
I have to admit that I don't check the dates of food in the cupboard or in the fridge. If it looks ok and doesn't smell bad that's fine by me. I do, obviously, pay more attention to meat but generally I am relaxed about the wretched sell by/use by dates. When John hurt his leg, our club president, Danni, immediately took some ice spray from the first aid kit and put it on his leg. I commented on the efficiency of the first aid kit (which I didn't know was there) and she then mentionned that she hadn't actually checked that the spray was still within its use by date. I laughed and we agreed that on the whole it was probably not a problem and then she found the date and all was fine.
However, this led to a conversation about medicines (which I DO check and take to the pharmacy when they are out of date - and they send them off to Africa...not sure of the logic but ok) and dates generally. She was scandalised when I told her that I hardly ever check dates and we eat/drink regardless - and seem to survive. I was mystified when she told me she even checks the date on her bottled water - er, why? I didn't ask her what she did about wine but perhaps I will... She conceded that just occasionally she'll eat a yoghurt that's two days past its date - but not more than that. Crikey, I have yoghurt that's months out of date and it tastes fine. This was too much for her. She pointed out that anyone with a sensitive stomach would be in big trouble with out of date yoghurt. I pointed out that maybe none of us have sensitive stomachs because we've got used to all this abuse.
My final fall from grace, and surely the one that will prevent her from ever accepting an invitation to eat at our house, came when I asked her what she would do with a carrot (for example) if it fell to the floor while she was getting supper ready. Well, obviously, her's goes in the bin. Mine goes in the pot (unless the dog gets there first).
If one day my blog is no longer being written you will wonder if it's because of something I've eaten!
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