... i detest people with weak stomachs. in every sense of the word. i scoff at people who squirm at the sight of poop oozing out of stomach holes, roll my eyes at people who gag at vomit, and dry heave at various other things that show up in hospitals. i get irritated with my mom who insists that certain things give her diarrhea and thus insists on buying gallons of bottled water from the store even though brita filters do exactly the same thing. i feel sorry for my poor sister who gets upset stomach from fatty foods (goodbye, fried chicken dinners) because i rarely experience what my adorable nephew calls "ow ow belly".
there are a few exceptions (until now, i'll get to it, promise) to this somewhat arrogant statement. one occured last summer when i made the mistake of eating a "beef" burrito from this super sketch joint in the south bronx. i can't say that i didn't know what i was getting myself into because i distinctly remember telling my friend stefanie that the beef didn't taste right. i shrugged, assumed my stomach could handle it, and then ate the rest. a 102 degree transient fever and several dates with my toilet later, i vowed never to eat from that burrito joint again.
the other episode of food poisoning occurred when i was in college. i went to this place in santa monica located in an area affectionately dubbed little osaka to eat at asahi ramen with my friend aileen. it was the first time i called out sick to my stupid hospital office job (which is more thankless? my job then or my job now? jury's still out on that one, but at least now i get paid more.) and i was put off ramen for several years, even while i lived in japan, i proceeded cautiously, first dipping my toe in the waters of ominous colloid broth only to realize that that shit is delicious and then plunge head first into the joys of tonkotsu. good thing i live in new york, where ramen shops pop up faster than you can say "irasshaimase".
this week, in an overzealous attempt to cook all my meals and save on eating out, i let a whole roasting chicken sit in my fridge a little longer than it ought to have. i got home from work on tuesday with the intention of roasting this chicken, opened the package and thought it smelled a little funny. i rinsed it off and viola! it didn't smell so funny anymore. i proceeded as planned. the chicken was delicious (from what i could remember). i even served it with some salad (that i didn't wash--TJ's triple washes all of their bagged salads, right?) tossed with avocado and cheese. a meal fit for a princess.
it could have been the chicken. it could have been the salad. whether it was salmonella or e.coli, one thing i know: i will not be eating either of those things for a long, long time. because my friends, there was ow ow belly. with impunity. my stomach of steel has been conquered at last by some pesky bacteria and i'm not sure if i'll ever get over it.