“Worst by”

I live on the edge. It’s just something I do. It could come from my first Bond picture, Thunderball (1965), when I watched Sean Connery swim in a pool with sharks. That’s the kind of thing that stays with a nine‑year‑old boy. That year, my parents also took me to see Doctor Zhivago at the drive‑in. Well, they didn’t actually take me. They couldn’t get a sitter, so I played around in the backseat while they watched the movie. I remember the scene when Zhivago and Lara enter a frozen dacha. I found out years later they used paraffin wax to simulate frost. The sharks in Thunderball were real, though, and Connery actually swam with them. Now, that’s what I call inspiring.

Last week, I wrote about one particular form of living on the edge: self‑harm (see Me, Myself, and Self Harm). Since then, I’ve learned to be careful when using that term. I received messages from Microsoft and X checking in with me to see if I was all right and suggesting resources if I needed them. The language was very gentle. Apparently, the algorithm is ever vigilant when it comes to the public’s health and well‑being. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.

I have identified another form of living on the edge. This one is related to food and may be the bane of Boomers or anyone else with a dismissive attitude toward food preparation. That may sound strange, but I am far removed from that end of the spectrum labeled “foodie.” By that I mean I am still not averse to Raisin Bran, prunes, and hard‑boiled eggs for dinner. Sprinkle everything with gin and I am a happy man. Even then, though, there is danger, since if I eat the eggs too fast, I get an awful case of acid reflux. What’s really awful is that I am now one of those old dudes who talks about his digestion.

This other form I am calling “best by.”

“Best by” is the date printed on the cup, can, or container that tells you the last date to consume the item to get the most flavor and—presumably—not post a damning video on TikTok. Anything beyond that and you are on your own, although another algorithm informed me that it is just a marketing ploy. I can eat canned beets past the best‑by date as long as the can hasn’t been dented, damaged, or compromised in any way. This holds true even when the beets have black blotches on them that look like skin lesions. I thought immediately of that North Pole expedition in which the entire crew succumbed to lead poisoning from the cans. Awful, that.

To show you how complicated this can get, right now I am dealing with canned herring and tuna, ghost‑peppered barbecue sauce, cottage cheese, peach kefir, and sliced mangoes all past their best‑by dates. I don’t even shop at Costco, so it’s not as if I buy in bulk. I eat in rations. If I could get military MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), I would. I’m not even counting the ranch dressing—worshipped by thousands of foreign visitors to the USA for the World Cup. It’s supposed to be refrigerated after opening, which is a subset of the best‑by category.

Why wasn’t mine, you ask? Have you tried reading labels lately? Even if you grabbed one of those generic magnifying glasses from the Personal Care aisle, you’d be hard‑pressed to find it.

In spite of the jars in the back of my refrigerator growing something fuzzy, I have never eaten gas‑station sushi and have no intention of dying of food poisoning or anything else. I suppose most people don’t. A lot of times, death just happens. But I don’t think consuming sliced mangoes past the best‑by date will do me in. I may not have an experience on the order of a Belizean sunset, but that’s fine by me. I’ve been to Belize and didn’t even bother to go snorkeling. I am also one of those consumers for whom they should start a “worst by” date. That would really get my attention the way scarfing down a hard‑boiled egg would.

You have to take a date like that seriously.

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