It was one of those blazing hot Saturdays in the summer of 1999. The church picnic was in full swing, and Lisa, nine months pregnant, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else than roasting in the 100°F heat. Her spaghetti-strap sundress clung to her as she fanned herself under a big oak tree.
“Want me to get you something to drink?” I asked, noticing the sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“Oh, yes, please!” she sighed, brightening up a bit. “An iced tea would be amazing.”
I returned with her drink, and she eagerly took a sip, closing her eyes with a relieved smile. “You’re my hero,” she said, only half-joking. Then she added, “Would you mind grabbing me a little snack? I’m having these cravings, and I think my blood sugar’s low.”
“Of course!” I said, ready to play the role of catering service for my friend. “What are you in the mood for?”
She thought about it, her eyes drifting over to the food table. “Hmm, how about some coleslaw, macaroni salad, a couple of rolls, and maybe a small piece of fried chicken—the tiniest piece you can find. Oh, and some potato salad. Gotta have the potato salad with fried chicken. It reminds me of my grandma’s picnics when we’d take road trips.”
Armed with her requests, I made my way to the food table, dodging all the darting and screaming kids playing tag, and returned with a heaping plate of her favorites. She laughed as I handed it over, her eyes widening at the carbs.
“Oh no, I’m really in trouble now,” she said, patting her belly. “I’m not supposed to be loading up on all these carbs. But here we are!”
We settled under the shade of the tree, Lisa picking at her chicken and savoring every bite of potato salad and macaroni. Church friends stopped by to wish her well, ask how far along she was, and whether she’d picked a name for the baby.
“Not yet,” she’d answer with a smile. “Maybe I’ll know when I see her.”
The rest of the day passed peacefully under that tree. A breeze would drift by now and then, just enough to give a little relief from the heat.
As the picnic wrapped up, I hugged Lisa goodbye. “Take care of yourself and that little one,” I said as I patted her belly.
“You know it,” she replied, waving as I headed to my car. I drove home, did a little cleaning, and had just finished folding laundry when my phone rang. It was Leah, our friend from the picnic.
Her voice was tense. “Lisa’s in the hospital. They’re saying food poisoning. And…it’s serious. She might lose the baby.”
My stomach dropped. “I just saw her! She seemed fine. What happened?”
“They’re not sure yet, but they’re doing everything they can. Keep praying, and I’ll let you know as soon as I hear more.”
The hours dragged by as we called family and friends, asking for prayers and support. It was the next afternoon before Leah called back with better news.
“The baby’s here,” she said, sounding exhausted but relieved. “She came early, but she’s okay. Lisa’s stable too. It was touch and go, but they made it.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Thank goodness. What caused it?”
“The doctors said it was food poisoning.” Leah paused. “And everyone’s blaming the macaroni salad. They think it sat out in the sun too long with all that mayo.”
Within days, the church was buzzing with theories. People were quick to point fingers at the family who had brought the macaroni salad, loaded with mayonnaise, and then left it out on the table for hours.
“Who in their right mind leaves mayonnaise in the heat?” someone muttered.
“It’s just irresponsible,” another chimed in.
But a couple of weeks later, the test results came back, and the doctors gathered us to clarify the culprit. It wasn’t the macaroni salad, they said—it was the potato salad. Most people thought mayonnaise was the typical food-poisoning suspect, but the doctors explained otherwise.
“It’s actually the potatoes,” the doctor told us. “Cooked potatoes can harbor *Clostridium botulinum*, which thrives in low-oxygen environments. If the potatoes aren’t cooled properly after cooking, they’re a risk.”
“So it wasn’t the mayonnaise at all?” one church member asked, looking around at the group, surprised.
“No,” the doctor assured us. “In fact, mayonnaise gets a bad rap. Most cases of foodborne illness are due to improper handling of cooked potatoes. If they sit out too long, especially in warm temperatures, they can produce dangerous toxins. It’s something many people don’t know.”
The doctor’s explanation put an end to the speculation and finger-pointing. Plus, we learned an important lesson about food safety—especially when it came to something as unassuming as potato salad. So it wasn’t the mayo. It was the potato salad and the next question was….who brought the potato salad!