Lileks: Recalling recalls

Variety may be the spice of life, but it turns out spice can be a variety of death: McCormick says some of its seasonings might be contaminated with salmonella, so they're being recalled.

Whenever I read about a product being recalled, I imagine some retired executive sitting by the fire with a pipe, looking wistfully into the distance as he experiences a pleasant reverie. "Oh, yes, I recall the Ford Explodo XR. Ah, memories."

My car was recalled recently. Minor stuff. The manufacturer sent a letter: "In some circumstances, the left hook for the hatchback-area cargo-net may become loose, and in case of a sudden stop, the net may fly forward and entangle around driver, causing possible strangulation." You think, "I probably can live with that," but they'll send you notices until the end of your days.

You wish they could recall buildings that turned out poorly. I mean, the Multifoods Tower (oh, OK, the 33 South Sixth tower, because that really nails it down) in City Center is a big ugly brute, and if it were possible to launch a class-action suit to represent all the people who had to look at it, perhaps the architects would recall it.

It would take some work to box it up and ship it back, but we could insist on a loaner while the work was done. And it would be nice to have a different 50-story tower downtown while they made the necessary repairs.

Anyway, we were talking about a spice recall. That seems like something new.

Most people have two kinds of spices: the stuff they use a lot, and frequently repurchase — salt, and pepper, neither of which are recalled — and the things they buy once for a particular dish, then forget until the kids are cleaning out the house and realize Mom had been holding on to "Schilling Lamb Enhancer" since the Cuban missile crisis.

In 30 years kids are going to be cleaning out the cupboard, and find "Everything But the Bagel!" and "Everything But the Elote!" and "Everything But the Deep-Fried Zither!" and wonder why we bought spices that were everything but.

"Look at this, sis — 'Everything But the Nagging Feeling That Consumerism Is a Band-Aid Over the Yawning Sense of Existential Dread!' "

"Oh, I remember that. Dad put that on eggs."

I suspect that everything in your spice rack is gradually losing its potency and probably has the gustatory zing of fish-food flakes. But you can't throw it away. It doesn't go bad. It just becomes indifferent. If it did go bad, that would help. You'd open the onion salt you bought in 1986, and whoa, total buzzard breath. But no. Spices have printed notations like "Best Before Noon 3027 AD."

It's the salmonella angle that bugs me, though, because now I think I can get salmonella from spices. I have become completely accustomed to the certainty that a tinge of rawness in the center of a chicken breast means I will spend 12 hours orating to the porcelain microphone. This seems at odds with the labeling on chicken, which usually reads like this:

Perhaps in tiny print it also says "marinated in a bus station toilet" to explain the possibility of food poisoning, but I haven't looked too closely.

What's next? Beer recalled for salmonella? If I remember my cheap college beers correctly, I don't know if anyone would notice. You put away one too many 12-ounce Fox Deluxe, and your stomach will tell salmonella to take a number and get in line.

If they recalled a car for salmonella, we all would be concerned. Does it come through the vents? That would explain the people we saw driving alone wearing masks, I guess.

I should've rolled down the window months ago and asked, "Why are you alone in your car, wearing a mask?"

"The radio is playing a song by a band whose tour bus driver ate a burger that had an E. coli omega variant."