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NY Times article on how major food companies like ConAgra have no idea if their ingredients are safe
There are 25 ingredients in a Banquet pot pie, and they couldn't figure out which one was tainted with salmonella. So the company decided the solution was to tell the consumer the pot pie must be heated to 165 degrees as measured by a food thermometer. When confronted that cooking instructions may not be sufficient, the company says your microwave probably lies about the wattage.
Amazing whiskey tango foxtrot there.
It is strange to think about the incredible process of food supply. You think "Of of course they must have safety standards and inspections and what not." But the people sending out pot pies think that about the chicken supplier, the flour supplier, the vegetable supplier, who thinks that about the farmers and ranchers who assume that the suppliers and manufacturers are doing it. Then how many people at home actually use a food thermometer and know what temperature to cook things to? (I admit my failure there.)
For the record, I hate frozen pot pies. Ick.
In other news I went to the dentist today. I did not cry, which was a bit of a personal triumph. While I've stopped actually crying in the office I often burst into tears when I get back to my car. Not even when I paid the four figure deposit on the large amount of dental work I will be doing next Wednesday. No new cavities were found, though they are sending me to a periodontist to look at my malcontent gums. So the two old cavities will finally get filled, and the two back teeth will get crowns at long last. They are also replacing one of my upper crowns because I've chipped it somehow. It's a problem crown, that one, and they have reset it at least twice already.
The hygienist Candace has excellent skills. She's able to clean my teeth without making it feel so scary, and words her comments and directions so that I am not made to feel like a worthless creature for my dental afflictions. (Despite mitigating factors of health and medication issues, I know a good deal of this comes down to my bad habits and failure to keep up a good routine.) Even with some insurance, this is still expensive and dreadful. But I probably wouldn't be able to make myself actually do it anywhere else. Having access to a dental facility that caters to phobic, terrible patients is a good thing. It's probably a good way to earn money as well, if you can stand looking into mouths all day.
We also need a cat therapist. Jasmine is the most codependent cat I've ever seen. She meows loudly and pitifully for Mike's attention all the time. This morning she woke me up at 6am, for no reason I could discern except that she wanted attention.
There are 25 ingredients in a Banquet pot pie, and they couldn't figure out which one was tainted with salmonella. So the company decided the solution was to tell the consumer the pot pie must be heated to 165 degrees as measured by a food thermometer. When confronted that cooking instructions may not be sufficient, the company says your microwave probably lies about the wattage.
Amazing whiskey tango foxtrot there.
It is strange to think about the incredible process of food supply. You think "Of of course they must have safety standards and inspections and what not." But the people sending out pot pies think that about the chicken supplier, the flour supplier, the vegetable supplier, who thinks that about the farmers and ranchers who assume that the suppliers and manufacturers are doing it. Then how many people at home actually use a food thermometer and know what temperature to cook things to? (I admit my failure there.)
For the record, I hate frozen pot pies. Ick.
In other news I went to the dentist today. I did not cry, which was a bit of a personal triumph. While I've stopped actually crying in the office I often burst into tears when I get back to my car. Not even when I paid the four figure deposit on the large amount of dental work I will be doing next Wednesday. No new cavities were found, though they are sending me to a periodontist to look at my malcontent gums. So the two old cavities will finally get filled, and the two back teeth will get crowns at long last. They are also replacing one of my upper crowns because I've chipped it somehow. It's a problem crown, that one, and they have reset it at least twice already.
The hygienist Candace has excellent skills. She's able to clean my teeth without making it feel so scary, and words her comments and directions so that I am not made to feel like a worthless creature for my dental afflictions. (Despite mitigating factors of health and medication issues, I know a good deal of this comes down to my bad habits and failure to keep up a good routine.) Even with some insurance, this is still expensive and dreadful. But I probably wouldn't be able to make myself actually do it anywhere else. Having access to a dental facility that caters to phobic, terrible patients is a good thing. It's probably a good way to earn money as well, if you can stand looking into mouths all day.
We also need a cat therapist. Jasmine is the most codependent cat I've ever seen. She meows loudly and pitifully for Mike's attention all the time. This morning she woke me up at 6am, for no reason I could discern except that she wanted attention.