Is this veal, pork or beef? Or strange adventures in a Taxicab.

Just when you think that as a jaded New Yorker you have seen it all, something new happens. More often than not, it's in a taxi.

I hopped in a cab Friday night at about 9:40 on 14th street. Cab 4G97, in case you want to go looking for it. And the driver was very nice. Suddenly he turned to me and said, "Can you tell the difference between veal, pork and beef?" Stunned, I babbled, "You mean by taste?" His reply was to say that no, he meant by sight, and then he thrust a bag through the hole in the plexi-glass safety shield. I suddenly felt that the shield had just failed to provide any safety.

I looked inside the bag out of extreme curiosity. What would I find? It turned out to be someone's half eaten dinner in a tin container with a cardboard lid. I could see the rather rare meat inside where the driver had opened the container. He said "Someone left food in my cab. I'm Muslim, and I don't eat pork. Like the Jews." From the smell and rare cooking of the meat, I could easily tell it was beef and I told the driver. I handed him back his prize. He asked how I could tell. I explained to him that you would never eat rare pork as you would get tricinosis. This led to a complete and thorough discussion about tricinosis.

The driver promptly pulled out some of the meat and turned on the over head light. "So this is not cooked," he wanted to know. "It is rare," I said. "You can take it home and cook it more if you like." "No, I want to eat it tonight. Someone left it here." And then we were at my corner. I paid quickly, told him to enjoy the meal, and jumped out of the cab.

At home, I washed my hands with an antibacterial soap.

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