Gillian Ferguson lets the fridge decide her fate...
 Gillian Ferguson |
It’s Russian Roulette for the stomach. 'Sell by' the day before yesterday; 'Use by' yesterday. 24 whole hours out!… But is the food suddenly going to self destruct like a Mission Impossible tape? And when? How do they know so exactly? And anyway, haven’t people eaten woolly mammoths found in glaciers, and rusty tins of food from Boy’s Own-featured Polar expeditions?… But what if I become horribly, agonisingly ill, or even… die, and I have to admit it was all because I was too mean to throw out a ready-meal costing a mere £2.99!! What a legacy.
Questions buzz - like so many jam-maddened wasps - through my mind as I stand anxiously surveying the fridge contents, always pathetically hopeful, as if a kind fairy might somehow have filled it with delicious treats since I last looked. Please let there be something edible otherwise the home delivery food bill will outstrip the mortgage for the second month running. And my child will believe that dinner is something in foil trays a breathless stranger brings to the top flat door…he already thinks Cooking means Pierce film lid… But he does so love the popping noise.
Anyway, I inspect the prospects… yup, the out of date ready-meal is the only hope. I lift gingerly. Sniff maybe. Non worrier-type husband is convinced the smell is the thing, and never mind the date at all. ‘But do germs have a smell?’ I ask. They certainly don’t look like vile green hairy peppercorns or purple warts as they should.
If only you could tell by looking. But no, the passed-its-sell-by-date food lies there inert, almost smirking. It’s never had so much power. It looks just like it always does, but it might be like a smiling man with a gun stuffed up his jumper. But there’s NOTHING ELSE to eat, and what a waste of money and food with so many hungry people in the world, and God, just choosing and dialing an Indian can sometimes be so much effort. 'Ha, I’m going to EAT you!', I say boldly, It’ll probably stay fresh into NEXT WEEK at least!
So I heat. Eat. I’m not instantly turning purple or falling to the floor clutching my throat like someone with strychnine poisoning in a Victorian melodrama… (mmmmm)… What are the statistics on food poisoning, Hey, don’t I feel rather nauseous already? Am I sweating slightly? And on it goes - the hell of eating out-of-date food can last for hours and even into the NEXT DAY! - the poisonous effects might lie dormant until the food is fully digested you see.
'Never again will I do that if I’m spared', I say. Until a perfectly innocent-looking, out-of-date packet of Chicken in a Light Lemon and White Wine Sauce, less than 3000 calories! stares up at you saying: ‘Of course I’m OK, you neurotic modern person - what, do you think cavewomen had Sell-By dates on their bison steaks?’
Maybe in the future Genetically Modified foods will be programmed to turn blue as soon as they go past their date - or maybe they’ll immediately turn fluffy and run off squeaking into the bin themselves. Or purr as they transmute into handy household pets that live in the fridge and conveniently eat the obviously off foods like penicillin cheese, and imploded tomatoes.
It’s the organic foods that go off the quickest - this week’s special offer organic peaches had more hair by midweek than many men’s heads. But what’s keeping other food from going off just as quickly, then? Our stomachs will probably last preserved under the ground into the fourth millennium. But by then, maybe a hungry alien will stand contemplatively turning over the soil around the stomach with his squidgy, tuber-type foot thing, wondering if it’s safe to eat, saying to himself - 'Well, it is from the last Earth millennium but it LOOKS OK'.
