What is AI good for? It's a question I get asked and ask myself almost every day. Unlike a wrench, hammer, or screwdriver, which are each good for one or two tasks, AI is amorphous and intimidating in its breadth. It seems capable of almost anything, especially as it changes and grows more intelligent. People pump it up as a do-it-all wonder, and yet, the question remains: what would I do with it?
Often, I find the answer to that question in the moment. For instance, as a partially color-blind person, I struggle to match clothing. Now, I often ask Gemini. I'll take my iPhone 17 Pro Max, open Gemini, turn on Gemini Live, pick out a shirt or pants (or both), and ask if they go together or which option is best. I always get an answer and, honestly, I usually follow the uncomplicated AI-generated advice.
Success in one area of your life with technology usually leads you to try it in another, especially with the ever-fungible AI.
In my house, I'm known as the risk taker, at least when it comes to food. "Best by" is a suggestion. "Use before,' is friendly advice. My family often blanches at my aged food consumption habits. Yes, I'll eat that five-day-old steak. Those English Muffins expired two weeks ago? Slide them over.
Enter the risk-taker
I know, it's not great, and when it was lunchtime this weekend I slid the week-plus-old store-bought-and-made chicken salad from the fridge and considered making a sandwich.
Staring at the "made on" date as if my gaze might rearrange the figures, I realized that I might be taking a risk. So I opened the container and sniffed the still spry-looking salad. It's at moments like this that I wonder, "What am I doing? Does my nose really know the difference between safe and stale or, more importantly, safe and decidedly turned?" I can tell you with some confidence: it does not.
Still, having grown up in a house where money was tight and you rarely threw anything away, I was hesitant to dump this half-a-pound of chicken salad (slightly turned or not).
I stood there in my kitchen for a minute, weighing my options and thinking that slightly sour chicken salad might not, with the right toast, be that bad.
Then I looked at my phone, lying face down on the counter, but surely judging me.
I would ask Gemini.
Putting Gemini on the menu
After launching the app, I turned on Gemini Live and pointed the camera at the open container. "Hey, this chicken salad was made on 8/1. Do you think it's still good?" I asked hopefully.
Gemini thought for a moment and then responded, but not in the way I expected.
Before giving me the answer, Gemini launched into what sounded a bit like one of those disclaimers for an Ozempic TV commercial:
"This information is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition."
Clearly, I struck a nerve. I only asked about the chicken salad, not if I should have a kidney removed.
I get it. If I'd asked this question a couple of years ago, Gemini might've launched right into an analysis, but concerns about AI accuracy and understanding of human needs and context have risen since the emergence of generative AI. Sure, it's way smarter and less likely to give you false or hallucinated information, but it's also, well, not a doctor or even a dietician.
A recent Gallup poll found that more than 25% of Americans are using AI for health info or advice, and of them, more than half query AI for health-related advice and analysis before visiting a doctor. The problem is that AI is not a medical professional, and while it can dig through the billions of health- and medical-related bits stored online, it doesn't have a medical license. It can't understand or treat your various maladies.
In my case, though, Gemini drew a long thin line from my seemingly innocuous question about chicken salad freshness to a potentially incorrect answer, my possible gastric emergency, and a potential lawsuit against Google and Gemini brought on my behalf by my surviving family members.
Look, food poisoning isn't usually fatal, at least according to Healthline, but it is yucky and uncomfortable. I think Gemini was just trying to avoid me taking its word as law on this topic and a potentially bad outcome for both of us.
I'm still hungry
But what about eating this rapidly warming chicken salad?
After the voluminous disclaimer, Gemini got to the heart of the matter:
"According to food safety guidelines, chicken salad should be stored in the refrigerator for only three to four days. Since this chicken salad was made on August 1st and today is August 9th, it is no longer safe to eat and should be discarded."
The answer, based less on the looks of this chicken salad and more on general advice that I often ignore, ultimately had the desired result.
You and my family will be pleased to know I took Gemini's advice, threw out the chicken salad, and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Naturally, I asked Gemini's opinion:
"Yes, absolutely! A PB&J is a much better and safer option right now.
Peanut butter and jelly have a significantly longer shelf life and aren't prone to the rapid bacterial growth that affects meat-based, mayonnaise-heavy dishes like chicken salad. It's a classic, risk-free, and delicious backup plan. Enjoy your lunch!"
Fine. Thanks, Gemini, and bon-appétit.
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