my private food taster

I am not famous.  I do not rule a kingdom where I have enemies who want to take over.  I am not a public figure who fears being poisoned.  And yet today, quite remarkably, I have a food taster.

After six consecutive days of exquisite weather, I am leaving the Cape under cloudless skies. 

On the way to the airport, my mom stops at Mashpee Commons and I run into Bleu and get one of their chicken salad sandwiches on a croissant with a side salad. It’s around noon and my flight leaves at 1:45. I figure I'll  eat at the airport as we’ve of course allowed plenty of extra time to get there.

My mom drops me off around 12:45. Barnstable Airport is small, and has only one terminal. I check-in. I have no luggage.  The check-in agent says, “You better hurry.“ Huh?  I swear, my mom must have hired this person to be sure I left plenty of time to get to my gate, around 100 feet away.  Maybe less.

I check in.  Eat my small spinach salad, and then hear, “We will now begin boarding.”   Security here in Hyannis is far more stringent than it is at Kennedy.   Here I have to go through a serious scrutiny of my boarding pass and license to insure they match, take off my sandals, and unload my computer (which is in a computer case which is in a bag stuffed with a couple of T-shirts, my Kindle, my wires, a piece of pie from Crabapples, and other random items).  I did none of this in New York. 

We board the small jet, and take off 20 minutes early because, as the flight attendant explains, “Everyone is here.” 

I arrive in New York 39 minutes after takeoff. But getting into Manhattan is a pain. The E train is messed up because it’s the weekend and there are schedule changes.

Finally, around 4, I’m near my home.

So, how long can I keep an unrefrigerated chicken salad sandwich before it goes bad?

The plane is air-conditioned. The subway is too.  But the platforms aren’t. And AC isn’t exactly like being in a cooler or refrigerator.

I decide it’s not worth the risk. 

I stop off at Sables to buy some of their fresh tuna salad, and figure I’ll keep only the croissant from my Bleu’s lunch. 

Somehow I find myself asking the guy behind the counter at Sables  if he thinks chicken salad will go bad after four hours of not being refrigerated.  He doesn’t think so but he’s not sure.  Then he says, “Ya want me to test it?” “Sure, “I say.

I hand him my sandwich, which has been packed in a styrofoam container and taped to avoid spilling.  He carefully opens the package and for an instant, I think he is going to place a small forkful of my chicken salad under some kind of food analyzer to determine its edibility.

But he doesn’t do that.  Instead, he takes a small spoonful of the chicken salad from the sandwich and puts it in his mouth.    His fellow workers are even watching, eagerly awaiting the results.  He smiles and nods his approval; the chicken salad is safe to eat.

Tonight I have it for dinner.  If I don’t post again, you’ll know my food taster didn’t do a very good job.