The Particular Danger of Man-handled Chicken

Walking through the open air market a few blocks from my apartment complex tonight, I picked up some veggies for a home-cooked dinner. Mostly red peppers because they are basically the best vegetable created. I'm a little biased...my nickname when I was an international school kid was "pepper" because I was known for bringing fresh red and yellow peppers for a snack. 

My mission to create a broccoli and red pepper stir-fry in mind, I picked up some cooking supplies, including soy sauce and rice vinegar. Then, on an impulse, I paused at one of the meat windows, eyeing the chicken breasts. Cooking meat is a daunting prospect to me, especially chicken. One of my very few irrational fears is poisoning myself or dying from salmonella. Honestly I'm not sure how likely those risks are, but I've always been nervous handling chicken. 

My hesitation halted momentarily, though, and I asked the man behind the cooler for one chicken breast. Without hesitation he grabbed the biggest hunk of raw chicken with his bare hand, threw it in a plastic bag, and gave me the price. Let me repeat that: with his bare hand. I'm trying to imagine what would happen if I was in Whole Foods and the man behind the deli counter grabbed the deli meat, sliced it, and put in in a bag with his bare hand. There would definitely be some kind of outrage, maybe even a lawsuit. But nothing really phases me anymore so I collected my bag o' breast and headed home, more anxious about actually killing myself in the cooking process than the man-handled meat. 

So finished product turned out pretty well, though I need to work on my perfect seasoning mix. I sat down to eat while I finished reading the last few pages of The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, a book about a girl who discovers she has the ability to taste how people are feeling through the food they make. No spoilers but I will say the book is pretty sad, even though a "superpower" like that could be used for so many good things. I can't say I would be particularly excited by having to eat everyone else's depression or anger or insecurity, but it can't be all bad! 

If I had that skill tonight, I probably would have tasted the weary hands of the farmers who grew my broccoli and red pepper, the cold factory that made my noodles out of distant flour and eggs, and the jolly but bored hands of the meat seller living oblivious to the world of food safety regulations. Oh and the taste of my own anxious cooking as I cut the chicken smaller and smaller to make sure it was cooked through! We'll see if I make it to tomorrow :)