Mystery Solved

Recently I confessed to bringing rancid salad dressing to a potluck dinner. After my initial mortification waned, curiosity emerged. Just how could this have happened? With cupboards chock full all kinds of fancy oils and flavoured vinegars, one bottle looks pretty much like another. I thought Andrew had won the gourmet dressing in question as a door prize sometime this past summer. While I was right about the door prize, I was a tad off on the timeline. Turns out he won this while I was in Australia. Translation: We’ve been housing this culinary trophy since the year 2000.

As an historian, he’s pretty good with dates. I trust him on this one. When asked why he’d let me bring an eight-year-old bottle of dressing to a party, he said — and I quote — “It was in a sealed bottle.” Which he quickly followed up with:

• “The best before date had worn off.” And then,
• “I wondered why you were taking it.” And finally,
• “How should I know. You’re the food expert.”

Sorry Matt and Emily. From now on I’m sticking to a bottle of wine and dessert pulled straight from my own oven — which, come to think of it, might not be much of an improvement. I haven’t cleaned the thing since before that ill-fated salad dressing arrived.