My hubby just bbq'd me a cheese burger with meat that was on the edge. His clever use of sauces made me forget the meat was questionable and could leave me clenching my butt cheeks not to mention moaning the night away.
We stood in the kitchen staring at the two last patties from our get together where we had friends come over to enjoy our tiny but fun patio (Last friday.) trying to decide if it was okay. First he smelled it, shrugged, then I smelled it. Then we looked at each other. It still had some pink through it so I tossed causion to the wind and said "What the hell," and grabbed a couple of buns.
As with all his grilling, the patty turned out perfect.
The day was a good one. The air conditioner in the office was fixed and now I had to deal with people complaining that the air was blasting down on them. "Can you turn the air down? I'm freezing."
I didn't want to say anything, but I thought it felt like a meat locker too.
Oh no...the stomach is girgling! So much for our bold adventure.