Monday night I really wanted to make dinner. We've had the ingredients for a great meal in our fridge for a week and a half and I was worried that they'd go bad if we waiting another night.
As I reached in to pull out the steak I got a little nervous. It no longer had that nice pink-red color to it. Red flag #1.
I figured it' be OK and I really didn't want to throw out "perfectly good" meat.
I peeled back the plastic and the smell wasn't quite right, (red flag #2) but I was running out of time and determined to make it work.
I covered it with a very pungent mixture of spices and had the ear doctor throw it on the grill. Surely anything funky would get cooked out, right?
At 3 am I found out that I was wrong. Tears streaming down my face and my bum glued to the cold porcelain rim indicated that I should have listened to my gut and obeyed the ominous appearance of red flags.
The ear doctor? He was totally fine. I guess those two years of living in Mexico City eating who knows what filled his stomach with sulphuric acid. My belly has only wimpy lemon juice to kill the heebie jeebies.