What is it with me and chicken???

I have simply the worst luck in eating out, getting something made out of chicken, and then getting sick off of it. It has happened, again, this weekend. Last night as a matter of fact. What makes me really sad about it this time is that it was from a place that I really like, and it was a sandwich that I get all of the time, except this time, it struck back. What is my deal?

Last night it was Foster's Market down the street from my house in Chapel Hill. The target, chicken caeser wrap sandwich. It's got everything that is good in it. Lettuce, tomato, caeser dressing, chicken, and of course, bacon. What sandwich isn't better with bacon? Exactly. This past evening was just like many others. I roll into the joint, get ignored by the counter people for about 10-15 minutes depending on what else is going on in there, order my sandwich, wait another 10 minutes to get it, get bent over the counter because of the price, and then go home and eat. Or maybe hang out in the spacious eating area at the market itself and eat, one or the other. I like hanging out in there because there seem to be a lot of pseudo-intellectuals up in there with their laptop computers, reading glasses, and looking all studious, and I'm sure that there are a few that are actually there to study, but for the most part, I see a lot of people just shooting the shit. Which, hey, that's all good, but don't act like you're studying. Anyway, the sandwich is delicious, which is why I keep going back. Last night, once again, that was no different. Actually whoever made my sandwich last night jam packed that thing full o' chicken and bacon. It was huge. And it was good. It was good until I woke up this morning with a raging headache, and weird feeling tummy. I went into the bathroom to have my morning "sabbatical", and once I got up from the bed and started moving around just a little bit, that must have stirred the demons in my belly. When I was walking away from the bathroom, I thought better of that actually, turned around, walked back in, and assumed the position in front of the porcelain god waiting for what I felt was coming next. You know how it is. You're sitting there waiting for it, your mouth gets all drooly, and you get the gag reflex, and badda bing, badda boom, here comes last night's chicken. I would have gotten some pictures of that for this entry, but I thought better of it. There really is no need to snap pictures of such thing (unless you're in college and your friend has his head in the toilet after a long night of drinking, and his parents are coming up in a couple of days and you want to slap those pictures on his door for his parents to see - not that I would do anything like that mind you). Everyone knows what this little mess looks like.

Combined with last year and this year, this has happened to me about 4 or 5 times. Eat some chicken, get sick. I think I might just switch to beef permanently, that way, even if it is a tad bit undercooked, I'll probably like it better anyway. Medium rare is about right. Offenders of my stomach have included such luminary restaurants as; The Olive Garden, Chinese #35, Foster's Market, Taco Bell, and the fancy shmancy Spice Street in Chapel Hill. Spice Street should get its own entry into this blog, but let's just say that if someone says to you, hey let's go there, tell them no. Just trust me on that one, the place is rotten. It looks great when you walk in, the space is nice and well decorated and stuff like that, and then the food comes. It's not good food, and especially for what they're charging you, it's horrible food. Both times I went there, the food I got was cold, and not very tasty, and the first time I went there, is when I got sick. I only went a second time because one of the SO's friends was graduating from school, and she invited us, so I'll make an exception there. But if someone wants you to go there, turn them down and go to McDonald's. It would probably taste better. I've taken hits this year though as someone who seems to get sick eating out. And here I thought I had a cast iron stomach. I guess this is not the case. I don't know why these people are cooking their chicken "rare" around the Southeastern United States, but this never happened to me up North, then again, my eating out rate is a lot higher since I moved down here as well, but still. Come on people. It's chicken, cook that stuff right. It's really not that hard. My parents always seemed to be able to get the chicken cooked properly. I should make The Chad give them a food safety course or something of that nature, show them how to do it right. Not my parents, these restaurants. I think I need to write an angry consumer letter to Foster's this morning, which is undoubtedly something I'm going to do whilst I'm yammering away about this subject, and we'll see what happens. Last time I wrote an angry consumer letter to an eatery, the chef of said eatery called me personally to discuss it with me. I've never gone back to that place. Hell no. I don't want some Italian guy coming after me with a meat clever because I criticized his pesto sauce. Those Italian folks, passionate they are.

This does make me sad though, because now, Foster's, is on my "list". That means, list of places I don't want food from any longer, at least for right now while the bile taste is still sitting in the back of my throat and all. It could take me awhile to get over this one I think. It's too bad, because they are so close, so convenient to where I live, and one of the only places I can feasibly walk to from my house in under 20 minutes. I can walk to Franklin Street as well, except, that takes a little longer, but it is something I need to start doing instead of driving up there. Foster's will incur the wrath of the angry consumer letter from me though. Maybe they'll send me some free stuff? I don't know though. Everytime I have written angry consumer letters in the past, nothing has ever come of it (well, except the phone call from the chef and all). My friend Chad will write one, and they'll send him like free food coupons and whatever else he wishes. I don't get it. Do my letters lack flair? Or lack cussing? I forget. Maybe I should add a few cuss words, that might get my further along down the road, then again, probably not. I'll let you all know how this one turns out in the end. Probably like the angry consumer letter I wrote to Harris Teeter, nothing will happen. Never have heard back from those guys. They probably thought, or think, that I'm some crackpot, which is probably more or less true. But hey, I see something I don't like, they're going to hear about it, I can tell you that much.

Quick update on the wounds. Things are healing nicely. More pictures on that later on down the road. Don't have time for that right now.

Last bit. If you haven't seen the movie Sin City yet, came out a short while back, go and get it on DVD or put it on your Netflix list. It's good stuff. I would even dare call it, "groundbreaking". No really, it's good. Check it out when you get a chance.