This week’s show was recorded in Chicago with host Peter Sagal, guest judge and scorekeeper Tim Meadows, Not My Job guests Bridget Everett and Jeff Hiller and panelists Joyelle Nicole Johnson, Tom Papa, and Maz Jobrani. Click the audio link above to hear the whole show.

Who’s Tim This Time

TSA: The T Stands For Turkey; Seeing Doubles; We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Fitted

Panel Questions

A Nervous Traveler With A Stomach Bugs

Bluff The Listener

Our panelists tell three stories about VIPs making strange demands, only one of which is true.

Not My Job: Bridget Everett and Jeff Hiller answer questions about remote places

Bridget Everett and Jeff Hiller, stars of Somebody Somewhere, play our game called, “Nobody Nowhere” Three questions about remote places.

Panel Questions

Chrome Dome Justice ; The Deadliest, Most Radioactive Catch

Limericks

Tim Meadows reads three news-related limericks: A Bottle of Roma Red; Mother Earth Was Once Engaged? Keep Your Seatbacks Upright!

Lightning Fill In The Blank

All the news we couldn’t fit anywhere else

Predictions

Our panelists predict, after giant mattresses, what’ll be the next innovation in sleep.

Did your friends ask you to bring some cranberry sauce to Thanksgiving dinner? Thinking about bringing home dad’s famous mac and cheese that has the secret ingredient that makes it melt in your mouth? Or how about your mother-in-law’s candied yams that have been a family favorite each year for over a decade?

That shouldn’t be an issue if you’re flying, according to the Transportation Security Administration. The agency says most foods can be brought through TSA checkpoints while others will need to go through a checked bag.

Traveling by train? That shouldn’t be a problem. Amtrak allows riders to bring their own food and drinks onboard at their seats or private sleeping car. However, you can only eat food and drinks bought in the dining and lounge cars while in those cars.

Here is what you need to know about traveling home with your favorite Thanksgiving dishes.

What you should carry on the plane and check with your luggage

The following items can be taken through a TSA checkpoint:

• Cooked mac and cheese in a pan.
• Cooked or uncooked stuffing in a bag or box.
• Sweet treats and baked goods such as homemade or store brand cakes, pies and cookies.
• Green bean casseroles and other types of casseroles.
• Yams, potatoes, green beans, squash and other types of fresh vegetables.
• Chicken, ham, turkey and steak, which can be frozen, cooked or uncooked.

Foods that TSA says should be packed with your checked luggage include sparkling cider, cranberry sauce (homemade or canned), maple syrup and gravy (homemade or in a can or jar).

And if you plan to take your food on the plane as a carry-on, make sure your dishes that have liquid meet TSA’s 3-1-1 rule, which mandates that it must be 3.4 ounces or less, fit into 1 quart-sized bag and it is one bag per passenger.

When in doubt, TSA says to consider this: “If it’s a solid item, then it can go through a checkpoint. However, if you can spill it, spread it, spray it, pump it or pour it, and it’s larger than 3.4 ounces, then it should go in a checked bag.”

TSA Administrator David Pekoske said flyers can also double-check on the agency’s website if the food they bring can go through a checkpoint.

“There is a special tag for ‘what can I bring.’ And you can put what you want to bring into the search feature and it will tell you whether you can bring it in your accessible property through the checkpoint or whether you can bring it in your checked baggage,” he said during a press conference Thursday.

Fliers can also text “Travel” to AskTSA (275-872) and get an answer regarding their holiday dish, he said.

Make sure you can keep it at the right temperature

Your grandma’s green bean casserole won’t be any good to you if it doesn’t stay preserved at the right temperature or spoils.

Leftovers must be refrigerated within two hours of being served or kept hot at or above 140 degrees or cold below 40 degrees in order to be safe and prevent food poisoning, the U.S. Department of Agriculture says. USDA advises to throw away food that’s been out more than two hours at room temperature because “bacteria that cause foodborne illness could have reached dangerous levels.” The agency also suggests cutting leftover turkey into small pieces and putting them in shallow containers so it can cool faster and evenly.

If you want to chow down on some deviled eggs during a long flight, layover or train stop, you might want to reconsider and wait until you get to your destination. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says all leftovers should be reheated to at least 165 degrees before eating.

Amtrak staff are also prohibited from heating your food in their ovens, handling it or storing it in their refrigerators.

TSA allows ice packs as long as they are frozen solid and not melted when going through a screening checkpoint. Frozen ice and ice packs must also meet TSA’s 3-1-1 rules.

Be considerate of others traveling with you

While the smell of the food you share among your family and friends may make your mouth water, foods such as deviled eggs and chitterlings may not be as aromatic for others.

According to a YouGov survey released in June, 68% of U.S. adults say it’s unacceptable to eat strong-smelling food while on an airplane.

“If … somebody comes in with smelly, greasy food and that’s unpleasant to the person sitting next to him, or the person sitting next to him is uncomfortable watching them chow down, that’s a problem,” Scott McCartney, former Middle Seat columnist for The Wall Street Journal, previously told NPR.

Keep that in mind while sitting next to someone on the plane and you want to open up that container of collard greens before takeoff.

NPR’s Joel Rose contributed to this report.

I was hanging out with my friend Patrick, comparing notes on our dating lives. We were talking about red flags and whether we had any.

“Well,” said Patrick, “I feel like I’m sort of an aerospace cliché. … I’m an engineer, I drive a Subaru and I rock climb.”

“How is that a red flag?” I asked. “That sounds more like a humble brag.”

“Well, then, what exactly is a red flag?” Patrick asked.

“A red flag,” I said, reading from Reddit, “is a warning sign that a person may be dealing with a toxic, manipulative or psychotic person.”

“So what’s your red flag? Do you think you have one?”

We all have unsavory parts of ourselves, those internal demons we try to corral and keep out of public view. But now and then, one of those demons sneaks into the outside world, plants a red flag and screams out maniacally, “Dwaaaagaahaha!”

“Actually,” I said, “I might have a red flag.”

I told my story light and airily, but it was heavy when it happened.

I’d been in a rut with dating, feeling as stagnant as the 405 Freeway on a Friday afternoon. It was time for a new hobby.

“How do you like rock climbing?” I asked Patrick.

“It’s great,” he said. “One downside, though: It’s pretty male-dominated.”

I was sold.

I joined my local climbing gym, prepared to meet my future climber boyfriend.

I noticed him within days. He was an amazing climber but nonchalant about it; hot but unassuming; and mysterious but straightforward, according to my tarot cards.

It took a couple of months for him to realize I existed, but eventually he did. I was belaying my friend when he came over and said the word, “Hi.”

I waved awkwardly, too nervous to speak.

“So,” said the dreamboat climber man, “you really need to have both hands on the rope when you belay. It’s not safe the way you’re doing it. You’ll get in trouble with the gym staff.”

I nodded, mortified. And for the next month, I avoided eye contact with him, waiting for the humiliation to subside.

We later spoke again, and out of nowhere, he asked me to climb. We climbed, went out for drinks and climbed more, and suddenly not only were we dating, but we were going on climbing adventures together. I followed him up a multipitch route in Idyllwild, rappelled down a sheer cliff in Joshua Tree and then had the most daunting adventure of all … a conversation about “us.”

We were driving from Joshua Tree back to L.A. “I really like you,” I said.

He let out a long exhale, his eyes focused on the road. An excruciating pause followed, pregnant enough to suggest triplets. “You have a lot of red flags,” he said.

My chest tightened.

“It’s weird you have so many guy friends,” he continued. “And weird that you’re friends with your ex. Why do you need so much male attention? It’s a huge red flag. I mean, haven’t you seen ‘When Harry Met Sally’? There’s always going to be some level of attraction between you and these guys, whether it’s one way or both ways.”

I argued against this point, and he argued back. We spent the next hour talking in circles, getting nowhere — all while stuck in gridlock on the 10 Freeway headed west. Being stuck in traffic felt metaphorical.

Once we got onto the 91 Freeway, the traffic smoothed out, and so did my flow of thoughts. I wanted us to be on the same page, and so I convinced myself that he was right. By the time we hit surface streets, I’d become a surface-level thinker. My main goal was to save the questionable, fragile relationship, whatever the cost.

I distanced myself from guy friends and told my ex we should end our friendship. He was outraged. “We’ve been friends for 10 years. I’ve known you for 14 years. And you’re cutting me out? Do you know how hurtful that is?”

I did, but I cut him out anyway. I was so desperate to make things work with the dreamboat climber man.

One afternoon, Patrick asked me to climb. I hadn’t seen him for a while because I was trying to limit my time with guy friends. But I wanted to catch up with him and didn’t think it was a big deal.

Then the dreamboat climber man texted me to see what I was up to. When I said I was climbing, he texted back, “Who are you climbing with?”

“My friend Pat,” I replied, choosing the gender-neutral version of Patrick’s name.

“Is Pat a guy?”

I cursed at my phone, and a parent scolded me, gesturing at the youth competition team.

“Yes,” I texted back. “But it’s completely platonic. Or should I say … Patonic.”

The text exchange and horrific pun triggered a huge fight. Things didn’t work out. I had wanted them to, but in the weeks that followed, I got burned out trying to navigate our endless thorny conversations. By the end, I was exhausted and ran into some depression. Not only had we ended our relationship but I had damaged important friendships and lost my grip on who I was. I was ashamed. The question I kept asking was: “What’s wrong with me?”

I stopped climbing for a while and instead went hiking, often by myself.

The sun was low in the sky when I reached the summit of Mt. Baldy. I was the only one there, with the whole peak all to myself. Looking out at the mountains, I had a moment of clarity.

My climb that day was for me, and no one else. I didn’t need the acceptance of a dreamboat climber man, molding into an unnatural shape to fit someone else’s needs. I just needed to be myself. And if that’s a red flag, I’m not afraid to wave it.

Dwaaaagaahaha!

The author is an L.A. native, writer and yoga teacher. She’s on Instagram: @taytay_eff

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.