Why you don't want to eat the food at my house. [Updated!]

Yesterday when I was straightening up for the cleaning team, I picked up some Treasure Island shopping bags that had been left on the floor in the kitchen after I sort of finished putting away the groceries from the after-school trip to Walgreen's to get the passport pictures taken that segued into a trip to the grocery store but I needed to start helping with the homework --

I'll come in again.

It appears that when I put the groceries away on Monday evening, and was interrupted by a child needing help with her homework, I neglected to empty the last shopping bag, and only discovered it the next morning.

The not-quite-empty grocery bag contained the little plastic bag! You know, the one they use for the packages of meat.

And there they were. Two New York Strip steaks. And a pound of ground sirloin. They had been left out from 5:30 p.m. Monday until 9:00 the next morning.

I put the bag of meat in the icebox. Yes, even the ground sirloin, which later that afternoon, I made into meatballs, figuring that a chopped onion would have an anti-bacterial effect, and if that didn't kill the toxins, an hour simmering in tomato sauce would do the trick.

And then, at dinner time, I fed spaghetti and meatballs to my family. (Gahh!! Just call me Medea.)

We're still alive and well.

So tonight's the steak.

----

We had the steak. And we're not dead yet. More later--if the pathogens don't get me.