And thanks to that title, I now have at least one Ol’ Dirty Bastard reference on my blog. Never thought I would see the day. Two points for Lisa!
We all have our strange-o quirks that we hope never come to light. You know, the type that only come out during the kids’ nap time, or at three a.m. in the midst of a bout of insomnia. I am certainly no exception. I happen to be rich with idiosyncrasies; most of which are the type of OCDish behavior that makes a girl stack folded towels by rainbow color order. Not this secret behaviour. This one is just kind of gross.
I like raw food. No, I’m not talking raw veggies or any dietary caveat that Gwyneth Paltrow is into. Yeah, yeah… I love cookie dough as much as the next housewife, but I mean raw biscuit dough. Pancake batter. Potatoes. Oatmeal. Pasta. Ramen Noodles. You know, crap you aren’t supposed to eat raw. Crack me open a nice cold can of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and I am one happy camper. God save me if I can make a pie without eating all the leftover unbaked crust. I ate an entire box of raw penne when I was pregnant with Alice.
Go ahead and quietly gag over your keyboard if you must. I’ll wait.
I’ve started to notice that there are all sorts of warnings on the labels of some of the things I mindlessly shove into my gullet – and one of them was this gem on the side of the Bisquick box:
Which immediately made me think of two things. One; I’m not even close to the only one who is partaking in raw Bisquick. And two; what’s in there that’s going to give you a reason to sue Betty Crocker? I was thinking it was the raw eggs, but a little internet searching turned up that it isn’t salmonella in the eggs. There could be e-coli in the flour. Like, poop germs in the flour. Gah-ro-ss!
That being said, I just enjoyed the last of a roll of cookie dough from the bottom of our freezer and it was DE. LISH. OUS.