Terrible Analogies

To keep with the food theme, I’ve a quick question for you.  Can you identify what this is?:

Ice cream, perhaps?  No.

Yogurt, perchance?  Uh uh.

Bubble gum?  Natch.

This is what’s known in the industry as “mechanically separated chicken”.

Yep, that’s the remains of chicken bones and other rejected parts from the noble yard bird.  But, what exactly is “mechanically separated chicken” anyway?  Whelp, according to the National Food Safety Board, MSC is:

a paste-like poultry product produced by forcing crushed bone and tissue through a sieve or similar device to separate bone from tissue. Mechanically separated poultry has been used in poultry products since 1969 after the National Academy of Sciences found it safe for use. In 1995 the final rule on mechanically separated poultry said it was safe to use without restrictions. However, it must be labeled as “mechanically separated chicken or turkey” in the ingredient statement. The final rule became effective Nov. 1996.

Yummy!  Makes me hungry just reading that.

Oh, and in case you’re curious about what they mean when they say meat by-products, the definition is:

the non rendered, clean parts, other than meat, derived from slaughtered mammals. It includes, but is not limited to, lungs, spleen, kidneys, brain, livers, blood, bone, partially defatted low-temperature fatty tissue and stomachs and intestines freed of their contents. It does not include hair, horns, teeth and hooves.

In a nutshell, meat by-products are parts of the animal not fit for human consumption

So, the next time you’re chowing down on a can of Spam, a Slim Jim, or a hearty helping of the potted meat product of your choice, I hope you have a better understanding of how this food is produced.  As for me, I’m going to cook me up a hotdog.  Bon Appétit.

food food

What is the half-life of Velveeta cheese?  I only ask because we’ve had this block of Velveeta for over three months, and it’s show no signs of degradation.  It’s a bit eerie, actually.

Now that I think about it, I realize that more and more of our perishable foodstuffs is increasing its shelf life to unnatural lengths (did you know that ultra-pasteurized milk can stay good for three months?).  Extrapolating this idea, it’s not difficult to imagine that a processed product such as this extruded brick-like mass of “cheese” that I’m about to throw into my scrambled eggs should remain safe to eat for the foreseeable future.  Let’s hear it for science!

food food

While channel surfing the other day I happened upon a nature show that I thought was about the majestic and often misunderstood piranha.  There they were, a glittering school of piranha gently hovering in their sepia-stained world, minding their own business when *bam*!  Ambushing from above with the speed of a hungry Haitian (too soon?) were two alien-looking appendages, quickly followed by two eyes the size of which I’ve only seen in my nightmares.

This, my friends, was the classic attack pattern of the noble Giant Water Bug:

This is the reason why I didn’t go wading into those slow, trickling streams during those Boy Scout Jamborees.  I knew, in the back of my young mind where the Boogie Man, the monsters under my bed, and WHAM! lived, that an abominable terror such as this was lurking in the shadows just below the surface, waiting for my innocent little pink toes to come within striking range of its sharpened beak and gripping exoskeleton.

Damn nature, you scary.

Animals, Television Animals, Television

While watching an episode of Burn Notice on blu-ray last night a random, obtuse thought popped into my head, and before I could get the brain / mouth filter into gear I spouted the word “Sardines!”

“What was that?” Karin asked with a puzzled look in her eyes.

“Sardines. I’ve never tried sardines.” I couldn’t tell you why that particular thought had suddenly come to mind. Perhaps a long dormant, forgotten brain cell decided to spontaneously fire, projecting the thought of tinned fish into my frontal lobe. Or perhaps there’s a bit of subliminal advertising going on in the episodes of Burn Notice, with the good folks at Fox Television receiving a kickback from the sardine industry with each and every can of sardines sold.

Regardless of the origin, the idea had taken root, and I was bound and determined to try a can of sardines.  From that night forward, I would not feel complete as a human being until I had accomplished this task which was set out before me.

Thus, the great Monday Morning Sardine hunt began.  I jumped into the S2000 and jammed over to my local grocery store, where I found the object of my quest:

Running through the self checkout line, laughing maniacally and crazy-eyed, I swiped my check card and inputed my PIN number like only a man on a quixotic journey such as mine could.  Gripping my newly acquired tin of sardines, my knuckles turning white from my kung-fu grip, my butt hugging close to the ground as I rushed towards the sliding glass doors in hunched, lurching, crab-like motions.  Exiting the store I dove head first into my car (which I left running in the red zone by the front door), gunned the engine, and in a cloud of thick, acrid tire smoke made haste for home base.

Karin, confused by my singularly obsessive desire for canned fish, and having recused herself in the upstairs office to avoid any confrontations, heard me burst though the garage door and shrieked, “I think you need to calm down!!”…or something to that effect.  I couldn’t quite hear her, but that didn’t matter now, for my quest’s journey was about to bear fishy, fishy fruit.

Ahhhh, there it be, laddies.  Canned gold!  

Oddly enough, sardines taste an awful lot like tuna, only a bit more mellow.  The head and tails had been removed, but on my second fish I noticed that the spine was still in place. Oh, lucky day!:

The bones of these fish are so tender you don’t even notice them as you eat.  Very interesting.

And so, satiated for the moment, I made a mental note to pick up a few more cans during our next shopping excursion.  I can’t help shake the feeling that these would taste fantastic in a sandwich…

Personal, food food, Personal

…ever do this.  *Shudder*

This is the sort of thing nightmares are made of.

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