Last night I baked some chicken breasts with BBQ sauce. I had intended to make them Friday night, but Nathan was invited to a BBQ elsewhere and I wasn't feeling well, so I didn't make dinner. I knew exactly how long they'd been in the fridge and they should have been fine, but I sniffed them just in case. They smelled fine.
So 20-ish minutes later, I pulled them out and cut two in half to make sure they were cooked thoroughly. They were white all the way through, but the texture was really odd as I cut them, almost like they were still raw. I cut a tiny bite and tasted it, and it tasted spoiled. I asked Sarah to try it, and she promptly spit it out in her hand.
I was sad that I'd wasted several pounds of chicken, so I made Nathan throw it out before I could stare at it and regret it all night, and then we scavenged the freezer and fridge for a new dinner idea! I spent the rest of the night wondering if I was going to get sick from the bite I ate. Yuck. :(