Repetitive Ignorance

Let's assume, for both the sake of argument and my own self-respect, that everyone does something, every so often, moderately unintelligent. You have something, surely. Some act you commit, phrase you use, turn you take, regularly, that routinely turns around to bite you. You know that you cannot wear white shirts because you stain the pits in a matter of minutes. You don't chew gum because it braids your braces together. Or at least, you ought not, but do anways. Somehow, you just can't remember the effects of poor decisions.

Mine's eating raw chicken. I don't know how I manage to pull this off, but if there is an option, be it in my own fridge at home or at the deli counter in a London grocery store, to pick out and consume either well cooked, perfectly stapf and salmonella free poultry, or a raw, theoretically bacterially infested version, I'll take the unsanitary course, invariably. I don't know how. I did it today. Hence the presence of such a strange vein in the forefront of my mind. I was mildly hungry, had gone out for some household cleaner and a KitKat (They have a DARK chocolate version out here in the UK), and decided to pop round the deli and bakery corner for a mouthful of something toothsome. Asian food is currently, and has been for some time, the most popular culinary genre in Britain, save for Kentucky Fried Chicken and all its clones. So, I decided to try a few different pastries than what I'd normally be able to find back home. I'm not sure if the assortment I got were mostly Turkish, Indian, Bengali, or something else, but I did have some sort of fried onion pancake, a vegetable spring roll, some delectable little triangles filled with both vegetables or chicken and potatoes, and had saved for last a chicken and chili roll. When I got my bag of goodies, I noted that they were cold, but as the typical pasty or pastry has usually been precooked, I presumed that these little trifles had merely been in the fridge since their prep time had ended.

I was wrong. I was halfway through the 7th, and last, morsel, that chicken and chili roll that had me drooling the moment I read the placard in front of it, when I realised that the meat was a might gummy, and harder to chew than should've been expected. I'm OK so far, and it has been 10 hours, so either I have the stomach of a goat, that could digest a tin can, or I have the digestive duration of a cow, and will wake up next Tuesday in severe cramping pain.

Today's Moral: Always ask if food needs further preparation, particularly if you can be reasonably certain that the person behind the counter speaks the same language as yourself.

Oh, and in case your wondering, as a precautionary measure, I went back to the grocery store and bought a package of Digestive Biscuits (with chocolate). For those of you, most of you, not resident of, nor familiar with the grocery habits and selections of, the UK, Digestive Biscuits are merely blandly sweet cookie type crackers, high in fiber. Something akin to a ginger snap or oatmeal cookie, and quite nice, particularly with tea.