So I ran around like a headless chook...

http://swwcog.org/regional_issues/chicken/new_chicken.jpg

I'm a regular "I bring my lunch from home" kind of girl (read: too cheap to spend much on food tightarse who frankly, is bored brainless by her daily sambo/yoghurt and food combo). The only times I buy my lunch is if it's someone's farewell, my birthday or when we have no bread. I'm a creature of routine, so it works well for me most of the time.

Last Tuesday, it was none of the above. But as Man from Mars was visiting Sydney for work (which meant we were staying at the Hilton (!) courtesy of his work), I decided that I may as well enjoy the day as an exception to the rule. No brought lunch it was.

So 1pm rolled around and Miss DB, Mr Funky Glasses, Miss Tiny and I forged on down the road to World Square. Miss Tiny and I were leading the pack and we discussed the most suitable option:

Me: I had Thai twice last week, I'm so not in the mood for Thai, man

Miss Tiny: Same- if I eat it again I think it'll make me feel sick

So, Thai Passion was ruled out.

Then we debated Japanese. World Square is home to two Japanese eateries and as I only really knew of one of them I nodded like a dog on a dashboard to that one.

If only I knew.

The restaurant was pretty busy and we all ordered quickly to make it back to work in time. Miss Tiny and I were so hungry we kept making moon eyes at the pictures on the menu and declaring "I am so hungry. Omg I am so hungry!". I went for the tried and tested teriyaki chicken combo which came with rice, miso soup, fruit yoghurt and some other dip that resembled tzatziki. It looked pretty damn good and given my famished state, it was only natural that I selected the biggest and juiciest piece of chicken to introduce my stomach to the marvellous meal it was to be.

Or could have been.

Blame it on Masterchef, but ever since the episode where Callum undercooked the chicken because he kept stuffing up his yoghurt, I've always been extra observant when it comes to the chicken on my plate. On Tuesday, my eagle eyes were out and I bit carefully into the thinnest part of the segment. Then I turned the piece of chicken to survey its cross-section:

Perfectly white. Nicely cooked.

Satisfied, this was swiftly followed by another bite, and then another.

Then I got to the thickest part of my juicy piece of chicken and I bit into it, throwing all caution into the wind. I examined the cross-section half-heartedly, knowing it would be white-- well cooked.

But it wasn't.

It was pink. It was raw. It was shiny.

I practically ralphed. Out came the chicken I only *just* avoided swallowing.

This isn't cooked I said to the waitress.

She was most apologetic and giggled in that impish way that Asians generally do when they're uncomfortable and don't know what more to say (I only know this because I'm Asian and I do it too. The uncomfortable giggle is almost number 1 on my reactions to the world's most awkward situations).

Needless to say, from that moment on my appetite was lost and I lamented the chances of me getting salmonella poisoning as a result of my unfortunate encounter with the raw midsection of the fat juicy chicken piece. The responses were all upbeat:

Miss DB: Nah, you'll be fine. My sister cooked chicken last night and then my mum cut into it and said "What did you do!" because it was raw in the middle, so then she went back and cooked it again and it was fine.

Me: But then no one actually bit into it!!

Miss DB: Yeah, no one bit into it, but don't worry, you'll be fine!

Bless her heart, Miss DB was only trying to help, but her story wasn't particularly analogous and I was still concerned. In the end it was my sister who gave the best "from past experience" tale:

Don't worry, I did that once before. It was cooked around the edges right? And then you spat out the raw bit, you didn't swallow it, right? I've done that before. It's fine. It just feels nasty at the time.

Then I asked her who cooked her raw chicken and she said:

Me!! AHAHAHAH!!

Well that was enough for me. I flushed my digestive tract with 3 cups of tea and tonnes of water and hoped for the best.

That night, Man from Mars and I had fun at the Hilton. The rooms are awesome. The pillows are phenomenal. Everything is automatic, sleek and minimalist, but luxurious. We fell asleep at around 11pm, and at 1:30 am, I woke up with cramping bowels. Guess who, don't sue? It was the raw chicken!

Thankfully, it only lasted an hour and I was back in amongst the pillows by 3 am.

Moral of the story (in case it wasn't obvious enough): Always check your chicken!!!