Best before, I hope
It will take years, but I’m becoming a more vigilant shopper. At the grocery, at least. Recently, I brought home a lovely bag of bagels. All cheesy, and golden,and ready for the next time I had the urge. Sadly, within a day, the gold turned green. Penicillin, on the cheap. I received some pointed advice from the head buyer, hung my head in shame and vowed to improve my life skills.
This evening, in front of the same counter, I took note of the “packing date” on a series of bags. The 9th, the 11th, the 12th. Of the current month, I trust. I went for the newest ones, and with luck I’ll have bought a few days of grace. They could be tricking me, but I’m hoping the bagel bagger is too busy to dream up such subterfuge.
So much of what we eat comes with dates that keep us trusting in the system. Could that tin of tuna really be good for two more years? Do I really want to test the premise, or should I eat now and replace later? It’s that kind of decision making that keeps me awake at night (along with a gurgling stomach from the other stuff I ate).
I had another request; to avoid chickens that had been reconstructed in the factory (or something like that). I decided to go for the basic model. Bone in and skin on. With a modicum of care and a good oven, I can turn that bird into something memorable. It’s true. A chicken breast should have some muscle fibre.
