Coffee heat rising

Is that bargain food safe to eat?

You find a gallon of juice at the grocery on megasale. Only problem is, the “sell by” date is the day after tomorrow; the stuff that’s not on sale has a sell-by date sometime in the middle of next week. Will you have to throw out whatever juice you can’t gulp down in a day and a half? Over at Scribbit, a lively discussion of the pros and cons of Costco is going on; blog proprietor Michelle observes that Costco’s milk often has an expiration date so close to the purchase date she ends up throwing sketchy stuff away.

Depends on what the date actually is. Take a close look at it: does it say “sell by,” “use by,” or “expiration”? Or something else?

Food is not slated to spoil by its “sell by” or “use by” date. Truth to tell, if it’s been stored properly it may be OK even after its “expiration” date, though you might not want to give it to infants or folks with serious health problems. According to Consumer Reports, here’s what those dates mean:

Use by, best if used by, or quality assurance: These estimate the period in which a product is at the height of its delectability. After the date given, it may be less flavorful, but it’s still safe to eat.

Sell by or pull: This tells the retailer when the product should be taken off the shelf. But it’s still safe to eat by the “sell by” date. This date figures in the amount of time most people might be expected to store the product at home. According to CR, milk is usable for a good seven days after the sell-by date.

Package or pack date: The date the product was packaged. It has no direct relationship to the date the product is likely to spoil. Comparing package dates of products on the shelf may allow you to buy the most recently processed item, which is nice, but the older one is not necessarily about to spoil.

Expiration date: For food, this is the term that indicates food may be spoiled. CR says an exception is eggs, which can be used three to five weeks after the stamped-on expiration date. Remember, too, that for other products the “expiration date” is often just a marketing gimmick to induce you to buy new packages of perfectly OK products (such as sunscreen) at regular intervals.

The way a food is stored is crucially important to how long it stays edible. And you may not know. For example, last summer I made an emergency run to the nearby Albertson’s to buy some butter. What should I find but that the cooler where the butter and margarine were stored was out of order! It clearly had been out of order for quite some time: the room-temperature butter was soft, and the other dairy products in the case were warm and kept that way under the display case’s lights.

I didn’t buy it, and on the way out (annoyed that now I would have to burn gas to make a six-mile round-trip traipse to buy a single package of butter) I mentioned the broken case and room-temperature dairy products to the store manager. She just shrugged and said a repairman was supposed to show up that day. It was clear she had no intention of removing the products—as soon as the cooler was repaired, shoppers would have no idea the butter, margarine, sour cream, cream cheese and other products had been sitting at 80 degrees for many hours.

So, as in most cases, we’re reduced to having to use common sense. Give any food item the sniff test, no matter when it’s dated. Does it smell fresh? Any whiff of the rancid about it? And do you see any sign of mildew or dried-up spots? Does the can bulge? Is the can dented? If so, out it goes.

Don’t assume the dates on a product necessarily mean you have to consume it by that date, or that it’s still safe by that date, either. When in doubt, throw it out.

Gerardo the Heroic

Ahora que Dave’s Used Car Lot, Marina, and Weed Arboretum is cleaned up—however temporarily—I felt encouraged to thin out the Jungle whose purpose is to screen the view from my front window so I don’t have to see that dump.

Before...
Before...

Gerardo, aware of this winsome craving, came by the other day and observed that it was time to clean up the trees and shrubs. “Claro que sí,” I said, in some sort of English. Before long he had three dudes out there, cutting, trimming, digging up, and hauling. “No fútbols,” said I, meaning I did not wish to see trees or brush shaped like soccer balls. “Of course not,” said he, in some sort of Spanish.

They hacked and they heaved, they nipped and they clipped, they filled Gerardo’s truck chock-full of thorny life-threatening limbs.

“You’ve let these things go too long,” said Gerardo, in some sort of Spanglish. “They should’ve been shaped properly a long time ago.”

“Yah, don’t I know it,” I said, in hypereducated English. “Jes’ do the best you can.”

They shaped and they trimmed and they dodged and they hefted. They packed impossible amounts of stuff into Gerardo’s truck. Three hours later, they had the yard looking pretty darned good. Gerardo, after all, does know how to prune desert plants so they stay looking like desert plants. You just have to say to him, “Keep your eye on that guy and that guy and that guy over there, ’cause you’re the one who knows how to do it right.” And then he sees that they do it right.

...y despus
...y después.

After all this heaving around, they whipped through the property and performed their regular monthly ablutions: blowered up the leaves and raked the gravel and cleaned up all the pavement and carried off the leaves and debris. As they fired up the truck to drive it, groaning, off to the dump, Gerardo presented his bill: $110.

!Dios mio! I couldn’t believe it. Gerardo’s regular bill is $75. That meant he charged, for all that extra work, $35. That’s something like ten bucks an hour, for three workers.

How does the man survive?

How can you pay such a man? For sure, the Christmas bonus has to be a gigantic gift card to Home Depot (assuming that outfit has no strings on its cards that will rip him off). Better yet, though: M’jihito has decided to punt on the scheme to xeriscape the Investment House, since we can’t afford desert landscaping just now, and instead to cultivate the devilgrass (Tejano for “bermudagrass”) to form a lawn of sorts. Between now and spring, I’ll hire Gerardo to put in a winter lawn, which will keep him busy until the heat comes back up. If he’s smart (which he is), he’ll prepare the ground so the bermuda will take right over when the days grow long, and then he’ll have another job to add to his clientele.

Get better hamburger, cheaper

Dropped by the Safeway on the way home from the Apple Store. Checked the butcher’s sale counter, and yup! They had 7-bone chuck roasts for $2.79 a pound. Since that’s significantly cheaper than Safeway’s hamburger, I always get a roast and have the butcher grind it up for me. Also I ask to have any bones that come with, which I can use to make wonderful beef broth.

Their regular hamburger, cobbled together (according to the sign) from carcasses hailing from Canada, the U.S., and Mexico, ranged in price today from $3.37 to $5.29 a pound! For hamburger. For not very good hamburger.

The amazing thing is, when you have the butcher grind a roast for you, the result is infinitely tastier than what you get when you buy packaged or butcher-case hamburger. It NEVER drips water into the fire. It never leaves you with a frying pan half full of water and…stuff. It came from one cow, not from some unknown number of cattle, and you know what the meat looked like before it was turned into hamburger.

In this case, frugality not only works, it works better.

Believe I’ll cook up some broth with the chuck bones and a few others (I also picked up, very cheap, some lamb neck, and I have a few other bones in the freezer). Then with the burger I’ll make some of that albondigas soup I posted a while back. Yum!

Woot! Apple shines!

Hot diggety! In spite of the snit over the MobileMe misadventures, I have to say that Apple’s “Geniuses” outdo just about everycorporatebody in the customer service department.

Think of it: Got a problem? See an actual human being! Not only that, but the human being knows what he’s doing!!!!! What an extraordinary idea. Qworst should hire Steven Jobs as a consultant to advise on how to handle customers.

Today’s Genius, Zachary, instantly recognized the issue with the port connection to the Cox modem. He also knew how the Mac “forgot” my password (noooo, i did not change it and in a senior moment forget it myself), and he was able to make some recommendations about routers to get the Dell laptop connected.

Mac hardware is pricey, no question about it, but for the premium, you get what you pay for: gear that works and techs who will speak to you and actually can help you.
🙂

Off to the computer vet…

Funny will be incommunicado for today and possibly for several days, as my computer visits the Apple Geniuses. GDU’s borrowed laptop doesn’t communicate with Cox’s modem, and so unless Apple can get finished with my computer quickly, it will be a while before I will be back at this site.

Hallowe’en: “It’s the neighborhood”

Some time back, shortly before the real estate bubble started to blow up, I asked a Realtor why a house in the tract a block to the south of mine should be worth $60,000 or $80,000 more than my house, when mine is newer, its rooms are larger, its lot is nicer, and its interior had been updated more recently. She sniffed and remarked, “It’s the neighborhood.”

Sniff, indeed!

Well, there may be something to that. This evening I took Cassie for a walk during the height of the Hallowe’en tricking and treating and, as usual, walked down into that area. The difference between my neighborhood and that one was striking.

First, to get there you have to cross a feeder street, one that’s not so busy you can’t jaywalk across safely but that does carry some traffic. The road was hectic with people carting their kids in from the unsavory districts to the west and north, where no parent in his or her right mind would let the kiddies visit the local crack houses and meth factories in search of “treats.”

My neighborhood north of this asphalt dividing line had almost no children, but the slightly more affluent neighborhood to the south was alive with kids in costume.

In my neighborhood, almost every house had its front lights off (except for the occasional security light outside a garage) and the front windows shut up tight. In the other neighborhood, residents were out in droves, sitting at tables in front of their homes and doling out candy from big bowls. At three houses, the grown-ups were drinking wine and partying companionably on the front porch or driveway as the little visitors went from house to house to show off their outfits and collect their loot.

Think of that! The neighbors talk to each other! What a quaint idea.

Heaven help us, they also speak to poor folks. Now that is outré.

I walked over into La Maya’s part of the area, a block closer to the truly desirable addresses. Her house is worth about $150,000 more than what mine is worth—maybe more than that now, after Dave’s Used Car Lot, Marina, and Weed Arboretum was given away for practically nothing at auction. Interestingly, that neighborhood was just as hermetically sealed as mine: most houses had their lights out, and none of the locals were to be seen in public. Precious few kids, either.

So there you go: what makes a neighborhood is the neighbors.

Maybe when you’re looking to buy a new house, you should wait until Hallowe’en and visit all your candidate areas. Look for one where the residents are outside enjoying the little kids and each other—that’s a good neighborhood!