Sunday, October 30, 2011

Bad Meat

Sometimes, when my husband has annoyed me in some way, I hesitate in answering questions. Like when he holds up a baggie of meat and says, "Is this good?"

I hesitate because, really, what is good?
Can meat be bad or good?
Does meat have a conscience once it ceases to be live meat?

Or maybe he's referring to his holding of the baggie. I'm no great judge of meat holders, but I'd say he's doing a fine job, standing there. Holding his meat.

I just stare at him, slack jawed.  I'm sure it appears that I am straining to remember when I prepared the meat (was it on Meatloaf Monday? Or Taco Tuesday?), but I'm actually weighing the morality of knowingly letting my husband eat questionable meat against the satisfaction I will get from his intestinal discomfort caused by said meat.

This makes me a bad person. I know.

Smell it, maybe you should just smell it. That way, it's on his shoulders. If his nose deems it an acceptable meat, then surely I can't be held accountable if things go south. Is it sauced? Is it strongly sauced? It is sauced to the extent that it might make 6 day meat smell like 3 day meat? 

It's not like it's going to kill him. Right? My God, what if there is something really funky wrong with that meat and he has a compromised immune system or a weak heart that's never been diagnosed, and bad meat is just the thing that is going to send him into a downward spiral? What if this baggie of meat and my petty grievance fells the only man I've ever loved?

What have I done? 

He is turning from me, muttering "I think it's fine." and I hurl myself down the stairs and yell "NO! It's not okay! Don't eat it! I don't want to lose you!"

He looks at me like I'm a lunatic, because I am, and says "No, really. This is what you used day before yesterday, I remember putting it in this baggie."

His life, spared by his good memory and my guilty conscience.


  1. I read this to my husband and he laughed... but in a slightly uncomfortable way that leads me to believe he was thinking, "Do wives really do that? Uh-oh."

  2. That's funny. My husband once ate tacos he left wrapped in foil in his car for 7 hours while he played softball in the the blazing summer heat. Growing up with 7 kids, there was no such thing as "bad meat." The guy now has a stomach lined with titanium. The rest of us get food poisoning from yogurt that's one day past the expiration. There is no justice in the world.

  3. The BBQ chicken that I made yesterday was about the best I have ever done at getting the outside texture ..just.. right by setting a timer and turning the food every five minutes. So I thought I had one leftover piece to throw into a soup this afternoon, but no, The Wifey ate it! So unknown to me she later cooked another batch of chicken, all that was available in the house at a temperature close to the surface of the sun, with a tough texture resulting. At least there was enough good soft meat inside the chicken pieces for my gumbo, and the dog didn't mind the exterior. He is used to rawhide chew bones.

  4. I always say as long as the meat is still pink it's probably good. That sounds moderately innuendo and inappropriate, but it's not. I mean it. Alive husbands are such a good thing.

  5. Haley, you've made him nervous!
    Marianne, tacos? That is living on the edge, lol.
    Boston, in my house, eating something meant for dinner is BIG TROUBLE. I hope you made her pay.
    Mary, my very favorite part of your comment is the word 'probably'. It's so casual, yet so vital.