Vee: Gather round, gather round, for a harrowing tale of mold cultures and folly.
Long ago, both James and I bought cream cheese- two separate containers, mind you. The plain one [obviously the better choice] was mine, the hideous garlic flavored concoction was his.
For months I used that cheese, always ensuring I had a clean, sterile knife when excavating its creamy depths.
James, on the other hand, treated his cream cheese like a garbage, not even bothering to wipe chunks of ham and olives off the spoon before digging in.
Several vacations later, we returned with a hankering for some cheese on toast.
"I wonder if it's okay?" says James.
I read the expiry date. It is really close, but not quite upon us.
"Let's see." I reply, handing James his and opening the lid of my cheese.
It is as pristine and white as the day I bought it.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH." Says James, gagging over his tub of mossy green chunks. "It's expired!"
"No." I say patiently. "It's contaminated."
"No." I say patiently. "It's contaminated."
And that, boys and girls, is how James learned about contamination of the source.
Jaime: I have a more... relaxed view of these things than she does. Essentially, I am more focused on enjoying my food than attempting to preserve it for future generations and anthropologists.
