Cooked Through
We LOVE BBQ at my house. One of the things I dislike the most about BBQing at home is that my mom always cuts up the meat, and inspects it to the nth degree, often sending it back to the BBQ to get some extra grilling time (multiple times over), and then at the end, ending up with a perhaps overly well-done piece of meat. I find this frustrating, because as the head BBQ cook, I like to feel like I know what I'm doing, and when the food is done.
As with all things with your parents, though, you end up finding that they were "right" -- at least in some way. For BBQing and making sure things were ridiculously cooked through, this happened for me yesterday.
Yesterday, C and I were charged with caring for C's baby cousins (9 and 11, so not really babies, but we took care of them for a year when they were around 1 and 3), and as part of the day, we had a hot dog and hamburger BBQ at the end of the day. Last night, with the heavy responsibility of taking care of these two kids hanging over my head, I realized there was absolutely no way they'd be allowed to eat an undercooked burger or hot dog. There would be no food poisoning under my watch. Un-tasty, overcooked, bland food? You bet, but no way Jose would there be uncooked meat going into those mouths! You can bet those pieces of meat were pretty much completely cooked through.
With each passing year, I get more and more like my parents. The funny thing is, it's not as scary or undesirable as it once was.
Maybe that's the scariest part.
As with all things with your parents, though, you end up finding that they were "right" -- at least in some way. For BBQing and making sure things were ridiculously cooked through, this happened for me yesterday.
Yesterday, C and I were charged with caring for C's baby cousins (9 and 11, so not really babies, but we took care of them for a year when they were around 1 and 3), and as part of the day, we had a hot dog and hamburger BBQ at the end of the day. Last night, with the heavy responsibility of taking care of these two kids hanging over my head, I realized there was absolutely no way they'd be allowed to eat an undercooked burger or hot dog. There would be no food poisoning under my watch. Un-tasty, overcooked, bland food? You bet, but no way Jose would there be uncooked meat going into those mouths! You can bet those pieces of meat were pretty much completely cooked through.
With each passing year, I get more and more like my parents. The funny thing is, it's not as scary or undesirable as it once was.
Maybe that's the scariest part.
posted by tangaroo at 10:24 p.m.
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