Last week saw the step up from "Food Handler" certification toward "Food Manager" certification. Theoretically, the day-long training class prepares one for an increased level of responsibility in food service settings. At our church one must be a Food Handler to set foot behind the counter, but at the middle school football game one must simply be accompanied by food handlers to volunteer in the concession stand. Still, the food manager will allow some added flexibility in the tasks that can be assigned and the level of supervision that must be afforded when I serve in the kitchen.
Much of the training centered on foodborne illness, and the prevention of such yuckiness. Having completed the class last Wednesday, thoughts of every sort of germ and how to minimize them have continued to dance at the edge of thought with periodic bouts of center stage exhibitionism. One such moment occured with Little Bit's onset of a wicked cold late last week. The discovery of an impressive fever brought on a trip to the urgent care center, but both flu and Strep swabs were negative pointing to a nonspecific infection. Her mother kicked into high gear cleaning every surface including the odd ones from phones to assorted handles in hopes of stopping the illness from spreading. Thank you Food Safety Class for this heightened sense of paranoia and the expectation that perhaps it is possible to sanitize our household.