Salmonella

So, everyone has their quirks right?  We are all a little weird in our own way I think, or at least I try to convince myself to make me feel better.  Ever since I was a child I have had this thing with salmonella.  This very real phobia of catching it and dying a most horrible death.  I am not sure if I read an article as a kid that freaked me out.  Which is very possible because I read everything as a kid.  Or, if it was that commercial where the woman is cleaning the kitchen with a sponge and it suddenly transforms into a raw chicken breast and she keeps smearing it all over the counters leaving a salmonella trail of slime.  I think the commercial just confirmed and more deeply ingrained my fear.

Not to mention, my baby nephew somehow got salmonella poisoning this year, it's a real thing people.

Well, anyone who has cooked poultry of any kind with me knows I am a hand washing, surface and kitchen tool sanitizing nazi during the process.  My mom who is an especially clean person discovered first hand my strictness when it comes to salmonella while we prepared the turkey for Thanksgiving last year.  She was trying to kill us all with her cross contaminating, salmonella slimed hands touching everything without washing them in between every step as I insisted :) (love you mom, but gross!). I do think I gained some followers that night in my war against salmonella, at least some more avid hand washers, and Clorox wipey users. 

Tonight while smashing chicken in a tightly zipped ziplock bag for chicken cordon bleu, all my years of extra precaution and sanitization may have been in vain.  Somehow, perhaps due to my over zealous slamming of the meat mincing hammer, the tiniest non-visible hole was created and a miniscule  (yet still salmonella infested, I am sure) piece of chicken was flung into my mouth!  GAG!!! I immediately spat and gagged and (after washing my hands of course) rinsed my mouth out with hot water followed by an antibacterial oil rinse and more spitting as my eleven year old sat there watching in wonder.  He already knows I'm crazy, but even he looked a little worried.  I am still slightly sickened and worried I may not make it through the night.  The nausea, although my mental nausea is strong, still has not left me.  It truly was one of the most horrifying cooking experiences I have ever encountered, and I have exploded a pot of mashed potatoes in my face before.  That just tells you how bad it was.  

I figured I better tell my story just in case this actually becomes my most irrational fear and actually is how I die.   Not to be cliche, but wouldn't that be ironic.  To quote Alanis Morissette, "a little too ironic, don't ya think?" 

*Disclaimer:  While I do fear salmonella, if you do not possess the ability to sense sarcasm, this may have been lost on you, however, I am a little nauseous.