A friend of Amy’s from her PhD days at the I-was-there-when-Tom-Brady-was-there University of Michigan and her family came over last night for dinner.
They’d been on the road a long time, so I figured a U.S.-styled meal of steak and two veg would be welcomed.
It was.
After a day of cleaning and cooking – seriously, me and two other semi-house dads I hang with at the kid’s school should jump on the food porn train with all the shopping and cooking we do and the discussions we have about how to make a slow-cooked chicken curry while also talking about the shit guys say on mic’d up hockey – Amy went off with her friend and family and I got to write.
Yet only a couple of hours into the adventure, I get this from Amy:
We went to a place for lunch in Noosa. I was going to get a burger but read that “All our burgers are USDA certified organic and served medium-rare.”
Use a thermometer and stick it in.
Only way to tell if something is microbiologically safe.
And the prices are outrageous.
There’s so much shit out there.



and why Canadians and Americans tell people to use a