In Memory of a Foodie Dog

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~Our Favorite Picture of Tessa Taken By a Dear Friend~

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Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

A.E. Housman – To An Athlete Dying Young

To say the girl was motivated by food would be a gross understatement. We had a saying regarding food in the kitchen: WWTD “What Would Tessa Do?” Tessa’s (formerly Trixie) origins were largely unknown, but rescue rumor spun the story that she grew up in a mobile home with five kids (she loved kids, after all, they drop a lot of food) and NO MANNERS. When C brought her home, she frequently would stand on the dining room table like it was the most natural place in the world for her to be, never a good sign of early training. She was an unabashed counter surfer, nothing was safe from her food drive. Hmmm, were her formative years filled with days in which somebody forgot to feed the dog? We think so …

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Tessa was a fine connoisseur of her dog food. Drop a fresh bag of kibble on the kitchen floor, Tessa would drill a muzzle-sized hole in it faster than you could go back to car to get the rest of the groceries. We invested in a stainless steel restaurant ingredient bin with a lid that she could not manage to slide open, but she would lick “Food Bin” and proclaim her love in a rich German accent “I love you food bin … I will never leave you food bin … except for chicken breast.” But her taste for food went way beyond canine cuisine; thus, C jokingly nicknamed her Tessa Ann Bourdain after Anthony Bourdain, one of our favorite foodie authors.

She had an uncanny ability to figure food out. We gave her edamame in the shell and she somehow knew to chew the tender beans out, then spit out the shell while our other dogs proceeded to eat the tough shell. Then we taught her to pull the tender meat off an artichoke leaf. Amazing! She also LOVED the kitchen (owned really), much to the disapproval of our friend who is a vet. If we were in there cooking, she would watch every move – cocking her head to one side and then to the other as if saying "Whatcha doing? I wanna learn.” Tessa would have definitely have been a professional chef if she could have been. She was always crated when we left the house, otherwise, as C joked, she’d be making herself a Panini.

There were times when her food drive was less than entertaining, like the countless times she dove into completed cakes sitting on the counter. One notable time was when C had spent all day making a yellow cake with chocolate ganache, which was surrounded with a chocolate sheet with a colorful transfer. It was a masterpiece. It was cooling outside and we had momentarily forgotten about it when we let Tessa out to pee. Whoops, our bad! Fortunately, the now “half” of cake was headed to a veterinarian friend’s house with dogs, who better to understand? Another time, in the mere blink of an eye, she devoured 12 of 24 cupcakes sitting on the counter, with only a smear of cream cheese frosting on her chin as evidence of her transgression. But interestingly, she never struck until the task was finished – she always preferred her baked goods fully assembled.

She also had a wild taste for meat. She won first place in dog obedience with stalactites of drool hanging from her jowls as C enticed her with nuked liver. She also stole her fair share of meat. At one dinner, friends brought four New York Strips. C went to grill them and assumed that we were going to share one of the “three” New York Strips – no wonder the dogs were all sniffing Tessa’s crate. Another time, B snatched a beautiful piece of filet from her jaws, gave it a rinse, and put it back on the plate in a position where B would remember so B got the “almost stolen” piece. Did we mention the countless sticks of butter and the five pounds of potatoes … Tessa was incorrigible.

Unlike our other dogs, who do naughty things and display a certain guilt, Tessa never apologized for her behavior (in the words of Bitter:Sweet: “I’m just a bad girl that’s why we get along – won’t make excuses for anything I’m doing wrong”). But for every bad thing she did, she was fiercely loyal and was always willing to work for us whether it was following B out to the studio, chasing any air-borne thing out of her personal air space (geese, Life Flight, Ultra Lights, nothing was immune). She packed as much into her four short years of life as she possibly could.

What really captured our hearts was the way she lived every single day with unbridled enthusiasm for her life. Bounding out of her crate every morning delirious to start the new day, her “puppy-like” attitude was infectious. “What’s the forecast for today Tessa?? MORE PETTING!!!” we would respond in her voice, as her nub of a tail wiggled furiously. Affectionate to a fault, Tessa loved petting and would aggressively seek attention from guests in the form of “nudge,” which was not always where guests prefer to be nudged! As a visitor mentioned one day, “Gee, this dog is so much calmer if I just keep petting her!” Grown men feared her affections.

She then developed glaucoma in her right eye, but functioned as though nothing was amiss. We jokingly called her Bug Eyed Monkey Girl because of her enthusiasm for mealtime - hopping around on her back feet and barking for dinner. It was thought that she probably had a brain tumor; after the last seizure she was unable to see at all and we knew it was time to say goodbye. Some dogs would be able to adapt to a life of leash walks, but this was not the girl for that, she needed to be fully present to be happy.

We made the ill-fated date with Dr. Sue the next day and on Saturday morning, our good friend John arrived with steaks, cakes, and wine for us, and a giant slab of beef ribs for Tessa. B tossed the beef ribs on the grill, and Tessa had her "Flintstone's Meal” all the way to the vet. She appeared to us to be highly satisfied and quite happy. While we know we did the right thing, she has left a hole in both the pack and in our hearts. In the winter time, Tessa would jump up on a platform where the gas stove and warm her hams while looking out the window and guarding. She always needed a job. That is why we, with a smile, know she is guarding the gates of Hell with those flames licking her hams – heaven would have been too boring for her…

Fare thee well our bright star.

Four Bad Dogs Café: Contessa’s Boodlicious Cabana Cocktail

We continue to prepare for our next Fantasy Foodie event – scheduled for Valentine’s Day. With our dog drink names in hand, we began planning our menu (see previous blog). Tessa’s drink and dish were easy – the cocktail and shrimp with mango salsa must inspire a feeling of sitting under a cabana on a warm, breezy beach somewhere in Mexico. And as the local weatherman predicted 2” of snow, we were inspired to feel some of that warmth.

So we set out to the store to buy our ingredients – the snow had just begun to fall, just a few flakes really. We jumped onto the expressway to Costco, which is typically a 25-minute drive. We hadn’t even made it to the next exit, when we saw the dreaded back-up, cars in both lanes at a stand still as far as we could see. Here in northwest Ohio, something always happens with the first snowfall – people forget that they have lived their whole lives here and yes, they know how to drive in snow. Mind you – it can be mere flakes falling, but you would think it was blizzard conditions to local drivers. “Great,” B says, “we need to get off at the next exit.” It was about a half a mile away. B decides to drive on the paved side of the road (is it the “emergency lane”?) – in C’s Lexus mind you. Now – we are polite people and we are not the type in a merging situation to drive up the clear lane and then stick it to everyone and sneak into the front. But we had no intention to actually merge back in – we were just trying to get to the exit. This did not sit well with some of the drivers who attempted to block our way – we also had a caravan following us thinking we were on to something. We made it to the exit but C was already unnerved, (she HATES driving on bad roads).

Everywhere – there was traffic and snow and slow, stupid drivers – C has really bad traffic karma and it was evident during this trip. What was normally a quick drive was going to take an hour. Why did we get this stupid idea? Oh yeah – that inspiration of the Mexican Beach. With stealth thoughts and knowledge of the back streets in the area (C grew up in the area), we managed to get around the traffic jam and take the little back roads to Costco. Except, the main city where we live had failed to actually use SALT and the road had become icy. But luckily, B’s ability to drive in harrowing weather got us to our destination unscathed.

Costco – we love Costco. How could you not? Well except its shear size frightens the bejeebers out of our own friend John – where many people fear enclosed spaces, John has a phobia of story-high isles of goods that could potentially come crashing down. We promised we would take him there sometime to shop for the food banks (he generously donates to local food banks) in some attempt to desensitize his fears and instill our sense of fun adventure.

We picked up a bag of jumbo shrimp (and a tenderloin just for us), mangos and lime. We already had the red peppers, parsley, and cilantro (yuck-C, YUM-B). We still had to pick up green onions and jalapeños. Our Mexican beach awaited us. As we neared the checkout lane, B recommended that I run to Fresh Market and get the remaining items while she checked out. I ran – practically slid on Fresh Market’s unsalted parking lots (tsk – tsk) and picked up the items. Originally, C had intended to have B fry wantons for the plate. Feeling guilty of the state in which C left the kitchen (not really), C decided to pick up some shi-shi tortilla chips in lieu of wantons – their marketing sucked her right in (Food Should Taste Good).

C ran out to the car (the snow was now steadily falling) – B was still in Costco (strange since she was checking out when C ran to Whole Foods – was she lost?). So C decided to be sweet and drive up to the entrance so B didn’t have to walk through the cold. Waiting – Waiting – Waiting. “Weird,” C thought, “Where is she?” More waiting. Suddenly in her rear-view mirror, she sees B pushing the cart with 480 pounds of dog food, giving C an exasperated look. “Are you trying to give me an Alzheimer’s moment?” B belted out? “Sorry – I was trying to be helpful.” Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal but C has this bad habit of disappearing in stores. B will be looking around and swoosh – C is nowhere to be found and B looks lost. So it really threw her when the car disappeared.

Next stop – Joseph’s Beverage Center, which carries about every liquor under the sun (no sun here, still looking for the Mexican one!). C ran in alone (at this point – we wanted to get home as the weather turned something fierce). “Do you have pineapple vodka?” “There’s no such thing,” the college aged clerk replied. “Yes, there is.” (well – there is!). “We don’t have it.” Skinny blond girl speaks up “We have pineapple rum.” “But I don’t want pineapple rum – I want pineapple vodka.” C settled on citrus vodka and pineapple juice, ran out of the store and hopped into the car.

Despite cars off the road (one even with its tail-end hoisted in the air above a large bush) and slippery roads, we made it home. Seriously, C thought about skipping the dish and booking flights to Mexico. We set out to prepare the meal (actually C did) and B ate half the bag of the fabulous Olive tortilla chips (they ARE really good).

C chopped up all the ingredients and mixed them together and started marinating the shrimp. The salsa was indicative of Tessa – a melding of sweetness, topped off with a spicy after-burn – that’s our girl. Next – C skewered the shrimp and grilled them. Then she set forth making the cocktails. The result – mostly good but it needs some tweaking.

The salsa was perfect – and it was perfectly stacked onto the tortilla chips. This is definitely a keeper for a Fantasy Foodie offering. The shrimp was a tad chewy, however, and while quite fitting of Tessa’s personality, we are looking for perfection. C had originally conceptualized a slow marinade, resulting in VERY tender shrimp, and that is the goal. And the cocktail – close but not perfected. The pineapple was too strong – we decided that an additional tropical juice was necessary to balance out the flavor. But the sweetness of the drink was a great balance to the heat of the dish. Were those waves we were hearing or just the cold harsh wind? Doesn’t really matter, we are warm and happy with or without the beach. Let’s work on that cocktail recipe!

Fantasy Foodie Meets Fantasy Football

How fun is that - being one of ten semi-finalist in the Taste of the NFL Tailgating Recipe Contest! I received an email from a colleague in another office today that indicated that he was just that! Here is where fantasy foodie meets a football fantasy - should he be one of the three finalist, he will be flown to Tampa for a cook-off on Superbowl Sunday.

How can my foodie friends help? I emailed him and asked if I could put the link on our blog for which he enthusiastically said yes! Go to http://www.epicurious.com/community/contest (you should all know this site anyway - epicurious.com is a great place for recipes). If you are not a member, register by clicking "join now." Then vote for number 2 - "Grilled Shrimp and Andouille Po-burgers with Remoulade Slaw." And don't forget to try the recipe!

Also, for each vote, epicurious.com will give $1 to Taste of the NFL to benefit Feeding America. You can vote until December 12, 2008 @ 11:00 a.m.

Let's make his foodie fantasy come true!

Cheers to Thanksgiving and Our Goofy Families

OMG, C started the day off with a survey of available online goats … www.goatfinder.com, even a dating service for people who raise goats, she’s not going down on the goat thing without a fight, but as I understand it from a friend with Alpacas, GOATS NEED TO BE MILKED THREE TIMES A DAY MINIMUM (and one of us is here all day with more to do than milk goats) but we’ll get back to that ...

We have just survived Thanksgiving - the most gluttonous of holidays! This year we broke with our tradition of inviting our friends without ties (family living miles away) and misfit friends (no family to speak of) for a nice big slice of tenderloin – never turkey (B’s mom was thrilled to have turkey this year). So this year, we have invited C’s large family to TG. This is something akin to herding cats.

Save the Date

This year, many of our friends had other plans. So C called her dad and asked, "What's up for Thanksgiving?" and got a less than enthusiastic response. Dad said that he would check with mom. "We are more than happy to have it at our house!" C said enthusiastically, followed up by, “We’ll make everything!” and, once again, he said he would talk to the mom. C’s family's communication level is about as spicy as her mom's cooking, so we would see what transpires.

Weeks go by ... B asks, "So, have you heard from your family?" "No," C calmly replies. B is annoyed. “It just seems like an invitation should warrant a response,” B offers.

Weeks go by ... C receives an email from one of her brothers - addressed to the three remaining siblings. "What are we doing for Thanksgiving? I don't think mom and dad want to have it at their house this year." Being always on top of the email (sadly - this is not the case with C’s phone, which is forever on vibrate), C shot back (enthusiastically), "I will host it!"

Days go by ... My sister responds, "I can have it here, too." What kind of response is that to my invite? And besides - her house is too small. Still - it was nice to hear from her even if it took days to respond.

Days go by ... C’s oldest brother responds, "We can have it here." C is beginning to wonder about this communication - we don't even think expert code crackers could break this one - should C’s family be recruited by the military?

C, being one who hates indecision, promptly responded, "We will have it at our house - we are centrally located between all family members, dogs are welcome here (with five what is two more?), and we are more than prepared to cook. Bring your happy faces and nothing else."

Again, days go by ... C’s sister responds, "OK - but don't forget my allergies." C says, “Now I didn't remember her exact allergies but I did remember that she had allergies, which is something that my mom can NEVER remember. So at every holiday dinner, my mom surely forgets the spices but she somehow manages to put every allergy-ridden food on the table, thereby leaving my sister to nibble on a lone carrot stick. Naturally, I intended to call her and ask her what she couldn't eat. Fortunately, it was fairly simple. No dairy or vinegar - she would bring the potatoes (with rice milk) and I would refrain from dressing the salad with anything dairy ridden (nope – not quite correct – she can eat goat cheese just not cow milk … another reason to get a goat – hee! hee!).”

Days go by ... B asks, "Do your parents know about this plan?" "Well I assume so ... but you are right - knowing my family, no one had mentioned this plan to my parents." C calls her mom to make sure all plans are clear. They hadn't heard a word. Surprise! In fact, C’s father completely failed to mention the original invitation to them weeks ago. Fortunately, C’s mother was delighted. No long drive and no cooking at her house.

More days go by ... we have yet to hear word one from C’s oldest brother, and we never did hear a word, guess that’s the answer.

Days go by again ... C sends a final email to her family (enthusiastically)! "I am just confirming TG at our house - I was thinking about 2 p.m. Please let me know if this works for you. I have the following people bringing these dishes - LIST DISHES. If you are bringing something else, just email me!" As B is prone to saying and I generally concur, "We have a generally sunny disposition!"

Days go by ... C is beginning to think that either her family has my email blocked or that there is some vortex out there that is damming us from receiving any communication. By now, even she is annoyed. So after another couple days go by, she calls her mom. "So is [my oldest brother] coming to Thanksgiving?" She really doesn't know, (lord knows we have not heard!) but speculates that they will not be coming. She goes off on a long explanation about their dogs' dietary indiscretions or something. TMI. That being said, the schedule is set at our house with my mom and dad, brother and sister-in-law, sister and brother-in-law, and four nieces and nephews as well as B's mom - 13 in all.

The Dinner

OK - C had good reason to have TG at our house this year. We call it portion control and we don't mean that her family is overweight and needs to have their meals regulated. In fact, for the most part, they are a pretty healthy family. No -- along with not understanding "spice," C’s mom has this thing about leftovers or the lack thereof. Simply put, there is NEVER enough food at their holiday gatherings. One year, it was so bad that her siblings and she rallied together and brought a second turkey. Her parents were not amused, but nobody left hungry.

We do not understand this concept. C’s mom would buy a thirteen-pound turkey for a group of 20. When passing around the side dishes, everyone would eye the limited amount of food in the bowel and carefully make a mental adjustment - dividing the amount in the food by the number of people and then take a miniature portion - something akin to an amuse-bouche. So over time, C became her anti-mom. That is - she went over the top to have too much food (as B’s mom commented at TG dinner). It never goes to waste - whatever isn't divided between our house and B's mom is taken to Sean and Tony or fed to Bob for lunch. And if there is still more? The dogs get a very special treat.

This year's menu consists of the following:

Honey brined turkey - brining a turkey is the only way to go. After 18 hours in the honey brine mixture, cook it in a cooking bag for the first three hours, then uncover for the final hour and you will get the moistest turkey you can imagine. The 21-pound hen was wonderful, tender, and yes, moist.

Herb encrusted tenderloin – well, we couldn't completely break from the anti-tradition tradition. This is the remaining portion of Angie's cow, which was purely delicious. We covered it with a salt and herb dough and slow roasted it to medium rare. Once complete, we sliced it thin on the deli slicer and served it with a creamy horseradish sauce. Thanks Michelle for the Rosemary Plant - we had plenty of fresh herbs for the roast. While the beef cooked longer than “medium rare,” it was so delicious that my dad asked to take the LEFTOVERS home. Leftovers – we thought they were the spawn of Satan.

Cornbread stuffing - this was made with all of our favorite ingredients. First, we made our super moist cornbread. Then we added corn (which we froze in summer - this was the corn we picked right off the plant), bacon (the food of the gods), onion, garlic, red peppers, eggs, celery, chicken stock, a cream substitute (for my sister), parsley, and yes, even cilantro. We don't take credit for this recipe. We saw it on the food network by Michael Simon from our own Cleveland’s Lola. The result was a fabulous balance of vegetables and sweetness from the cornbread – definitely a keeper.

Fresh bread – We made our baguettes with poolish (a standard fair). This was a big hit with my family and we sent each family home with their own loaf.

In addition, our guests brought cranberry relish, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, wild rice casserole, and pumpkin pie. The food was abundant and wonderful.

In the end, despite the lack of communication, it was a wonderful dinner with the family. The nieces and nephews loved all the dogs, horses, and cats and took to running around the property. C’s one nephew, who can be quite challenging, was lovely – asking questions about B’s glassblowing and the horses – vowed that he wanted to return to our modest home. All and all, this Thanksgiving made C realize one thing. No – C didn’t have this sudden new-found relationship with her family. Instead – what we realized is that even though we don’t have “perfect” families, food brings people together.

Why We Eat (or why I am never going to lose those extra 7 pounds)

“Let’s get a goat,” I said one balmy, Ohio perfect summer afternoon. This was just after we had to put down one of our two horses, due to a leg injury that went south in a hurry. The other horse, Stasi – a retired police horse from rescue, was lonely (we thought) and needed a goat (C thought, he never mentioned it). B rolled her eyes, “Great – another animal for me to take care of ”, or more to the point, for Julie to take care of when we travel. True, I go to work all day while B works from home. So naturally, she does bear the brunt of the animal chores. But I had an ulterior motive – I wanted to make goat cheese. Still want to.

Having lived in the country for some time now, I’m feeling way more in tune with the fruits of each season than the average city dweller. I don’t have much time to actually WORK in the garden, but I constantly delight in the process of its growth and picking the byproducts is a joy well founded. But I couldn’t understand this desire to make everything from the earth (mind you – I am not going creepy organic green on you). Well – I kind of knew why. I have a sensitive stomach and my fresh food never made me sick– the more processed the food, the less my stomach liked it. I also have a professional job that requires me to sit in front of a computer all day so creating great meals from my own hand when I get home, is a good hobby (hence the “fantasy (Four Bad Dogs Café) restaurant” idea, the realized reality is not nearly so glamorous as one might think). But there was something more and I couldn’t quite grasp it.

I never cooked as a child. Not exactly encouraged – my teenaged sister (impatient age) was the type to grab everything out of my hands and I simply let her because I had bigger goals than being a housewife. And my mother with her Welsh background never learned the words “spice,” “flavor,” or “ethnic.” So as a child, I was essentially doomed in the world of food. Fortunately (it sounds strange), my father was diagnosed with Type II diabetes and he learned to cook – really fresh! I was sixteen and my food life changed from La Choy (are you old enough to remember their ads??) Chop Suey (yummm, canned limp bean sprouts!!) to planked grill salmon, from green bean casserole to fresh garden salads with goat cheese (are you seeing the trend?). As an adult, I embarked on learning how to cook and bake. I found a passion for food, not to mention flavor!

B and I first bonded over food – she would throw a party and I would jump right into the kitchen and help her (something her ex never did). I would bring a vat of cold borsch soup to feed a crowd of 30. She would throw together fresh bread, salads, and smoked meats. Although we couldn’t stop talking food, we had very different styles of cooking. As Ayun Halladay described two friends’ style of cooking, I was Gub Gub – everything precise and measured to the gram, and B was “Lisa” who flung when she cooked. Oh and the other difference – I hate cilantro and fish sauce – hence most Asian cuisines (Japanese excepted!) – and B loooooves it (i.e., Thai, Korean, Vietnamese ~ everything but CHINESE!). But we have one clear thing in common, we love our food unprocessed, fresh, and from the local land.

OK OK OK, we have complained about the lack of innovative cuisine in our area – what we have failed to mention is that there is absolutely NO lack of fresh food. It is the benefit of living in the country long term as a foodie. About a year ago, I had my first farm fresh eggs. Meth? (just kidding but you get the analogy) that addiction pales to experiencing the pure rich taste of farm fresh eggs. Much smaller, brown, and when opened, it reveals a beautiful golden perky yolk unlike the flat pale lifeless yolk from a store-bought egg. It is has a rich complex taste that I never experienced before. As “November has her nails dug in deep,” it is hard to get these eggs and the cravings are unbearable!

But it wasn’t only the eggs – thanks John. Fresh venison arrives by Bobbie who hunts on our property. Sweet corn that we twist right off the stalk from Angie’s uncle’s “backyard” (about 5 acres of corn planted in succession). Eating black sweet cherries from our tree after a warm summer rain, employing yogalike moves to wedge into the net that we put in place to thwart the birds just waiting for ripeness. Deep red raspberries swollen in late fall (their lesser crop is earlier summer, just a preview). Small but impossibly sweet strawberries in a raised bed in early June. Brussels sprouts harvested after the first frost, cut in half and quickly seared to still bright green in a hot cast-iron pan with a little butter, a little olive oil add salt and pepper (if you are daring, wrap a few with proschitto!) and celebrate! (thank you Chef Aaron! I hated bs as a child, my mum cooked them to grayness~ but as she reminds me, all veggies were cooked to death in the 70’s!).

Back to the list of Good Food….. Heirloom tomatoes, plants given to us by Roger – deep purple, zebra striped, yellow – bursting with flavor. Pears from Ray – golden sweet, never sprayed and we perfectly poached. A pig roast at Lindsey’s – her own that she raised. Tenderloin from Angie’s cow – a cow whose eyes we once looked into. And our latest – goose breast from Bobby, which we picked up and saw the recently shot goose lying lifeless on the ground, its majestic white feathers unmarred by blood, the breasts extracted with surgical precision.

Many people would shudder at the thought of meeting the tenderloin that they are about to eat or staring at the goose that was flying hours ago. I know, and I had to apologize to more than one person for ordering with glee the bunny tenderloin when we were last at Revolver in Findlay – but there is something about being at the heart of where food comes from. To understand that we live off the earth.

Which gets me back to the goats. Once again, I pleaded to B, “can we get a goat?” Yeah – I want one. I want to make the cheese that we eat. I want to drink the milk unpasteurized. Until recently, I couldn’t explain why…

But then I read (OK listened to it on CD) “Heat: An Amateur's Adventures as Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker, and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany” by Bill Buford and I understood what I never understood before. I wish I could quote the book, but as I already returned it, I will paraphrase. Much like our wacky adventure through the culinary world, Buford embarked on his own – much more expansive, expensive – adventure. He worked in a kitchen in New York, he traveled to Italy to learn pasta making and butchering. In the end he realized this – food, like art, like all commodities – have been commercialized. We eat what the big box chains give us, whether it is eggs, TVs, music, cars – you name it. But when you experience that which the craftsperson provides, you experience something timeless. You experience the craft passed on from one generation to another (thanks Nick L.), you experience history passed on from muscles, you experience a timeless humanity. Appreciate it while you can, individual craftspeople are a dying breed. Whether it be the cheesemaker, the butcher, the glassblower, or the solo builder, AKA our Ray (ten years in a house built by a guy we still adore and highly recommend to others).

I desire that humanity and that is why I like to cook. There is a winding web in our community. “Do you know where I can get eggs now that it’s cold?” “I will trade you a loaf of bread for the goose breast.” “You put bacon in the ground venison burgers that you just delivered, AWESOME!” These are our daily conversations … And these conversations only make you crave more. Oh and I still want a goat. Happy Thanksgiving Friends.

Four Bad Dogs Café: Part Two

Preparation continues for our next fantasy foodie – this is a short blog kids, but we promised our friends that we would dutifully update our blog on a regular basis. After baiting a few of our friends who eagerly agreed to participate, we decided that we would use their tastebuds to work out the kinks in our menu so that we can use the menu for a dinner in support of the Charitable Organization - Equality Now, which is scheduled for the 14th of February 2009.

The menu is shaping up (not complete) but we now know which drink is paired with each of the six courses:

Appetizer: Indian Influenced – hey, he is a Tiger – grrrrrr
Glen’s Tiger Balls

Fish Course: Skewered Shrimp with Mango Salsa
Contessa’s Boodlicious Cabana Cocktail

Meat Course: Still Unknown
Crazy Calypso’s Cosmic Poo Juice – It’s dark – it’s rich – it had to be the meat course

Salad Course: Still Unknown
Pootie Golightly’s Champagne Splash – She is delicate and light-stepping like a fresh salad

Cheese Course: Fruit and Select Cheese Course
Sweet P’s Slow Gin Fizzle – He is sweet and loves cheese

Dessert Course: Chocolate Something …
Bella Donna’s Caffeinated Nite Cap

Over the next few weeks, we will develop our menu. But the drinks … that will remain a surprise until the games begin.

Four Bad Dogs Café: Part One

Today is Halloween and it is unseasonably warm for Northwest Ohio. As the sun begins to set, we bid farewell to the summer nights (trust me – this week’s blog is not going to be some sappy fare thee well to summer) and – well the Four Bad Dogs Café.

No not really – actually, we are introducing our next fantasy foodie … cocktail style! Four Bad Dogs Café? Did these amateurs get sick of the lack of culinary cuisine in Northwest Ohio, have a distant relative die and leave them a large estate, and unwisely enter the world of the restaurant business? No – we will leave that for another hapless fool couple. This is our one true fantasy – the rustic, bohemian restaurant with wonderfully fresh ingredients in (where else!) the Keys called Four Bad Dogs Café – and we mean our fantasy ‘cause it ain’t never going to happen! We serve who we want – when we want and the price is right -- FREE!

So here’s a story – of a girl name B----- who was busy bringing up two lovely dobes. Blah. Blah. Blah. Here’s the story – of a girl name C---- who was raising a dobe and a mutt on her own. Blah. Blah. Blah. Till the one day when B met C and they knew that it was much more than a hunch. That this group would somehow be the misfits – that’s the way we all became the Dobie bunch.

[Please note – B decided to sing this to me and I had to remind her that her Kindergarten teacher said that she “sang with enthusiasm” – mind you that this is not a compliment!]

So here is the story … B and I were both going through divorces and we moved in together. We both only anticipated having two dogs – well B had two – Kelso and Piper – and I had two – Tessa and Pirate. B: one boy dobe Kelso (very poorly bred – chest too deep, legs too long, roachy back, snipey nose, back legs posty… dog show peeps get the point) and one girl dobe Piper (the sweet shy girl). C: one girl dobe Tessa (she is the PRINCESS) and one boy “not a border collie” Pirate (we think he is brain dead but a VERY sweet boy). Not to mention our friend L who adopted a dobe named Bella who is at camp O’Bud a lot – she is very, very busy but soooo, soooo sweet. Needless to say – we have A LOT OF DOGS!

So it is cocktail season AKA summer when drinking warm wine is not very appetizing. We are sipping “welcome to Hooter’s Cosmos” (another blog) and as the alcohol seeps in the brain, we got the scathingly brilliant idea that we should name drinks after our dogs’ personalities! As Charlie says “you girls have too much free time.” Well duh – when you have the “bestest” friend in the world and never tire of each other, we just Yak, Yak, Yak about silly stuff all the time and it usually involves food. Naming drinks after our dogs? What a perfect Fantasy Foodie!!!

After much whining about having to compete against each other, claiming that B was much more of a collaborator than a competitor, I acquiesced to B. In truth, when I realized that we had six cocktails to prepare. If B and I were each to prepare competing cocktails, we would have to serve a total of twelve. I really didn’t think it wise to send our friends off after twelve cocktails – even if they were small samplers.

We decided instead to pair each cocktail (mind you – they will still be samplers) with a dish. In this competition, it is the cocktail-dish combination that competes. Our guests will vote on the best combination. It is not only the flavor of the cocktail, but how it works with a particular dish. B & I will work together (this time). But next time, it is an out and out war!

OK – OK – OK, this is the story along with the personalities:

Kelso: Kelso is a complete dork (not exactly PC). He turns circles when he needs to go pee. He barks at imaginary things. Smiles at people when you say in a silly voice “Kelso Smile.” He listens to me when “I’m am Heidi Klume and this is Project Doorway!” (said with a high pitch German accent). He is CRAAAAZY and lovable. Our friend, Crazy Mike, never can remember his name and calls him Calypso. Oh – did I mention – he has an obsession with licking his butt. The cocktail name for Kelso:

Crazy Calypso’s Cosmic Poo Juice

Tessa: Tessa or “Tessa Jean Binet” or “Tessa Anne Bourdain” (this is how we reprimand her for her antics in the kitchen) AKA Boodlicious (she likens herself to Paris Hilton – high class in a naughty sort of way) AKA too many names that we can’t even explain but there will be a “what would Tessa do” blog in time. She is a bitch (really) and a lovable one at that. She is also prone to seizures and glaucoma (bad breeding) but you would never know it. Instead, she wakes up every day with a burst of energy, which screams “What’s the forecast for today? More Petting!!!” But her most classic personality characteristic is how she plops (yes plops) into the teak lawn chair and looks at us as if to say “where is my f****n cocktail?” AKA:

Contessa’s Boodlicious Cabana Cocktail

Pirate AKA Petie AKA the Big P AKA Peedink (We find he just likes names with P): We think he may have been traumatized by a bad life in the pound (his mother was exterminated) and a bad marriage or he just may be the dog version of Forrest Gump. It is really hard to explain because he sports the same expression no matter what. In any event – EVERYONE LOVES PETIE and let me tell you, we feel guilty for all you suburbanites that actually got a Jack Russell Terrier. We have to force Petie out of bed at 11:00 a.m. and he has a bladder of steel. Sleep is his God and food is his Jesus. Seriously, B went to China with her mom and we lent P to our friends Sean and Tony – he came back OBESE and sleepy. Now, every time Sean and Tony stop by, he looks at them longingly and seems to be pleading “take me away to paradise!”, as he tries to wedge himself into their car. The dog is a glutton and will have no shame when he goes to doggy heaven – he may even be the dog Messiah. His drink:

Sweet P’s Slow Gin Fizzle

Bella: Bella is the Michael Thorp of mistreated or badly bred or just unruly dobes. In her formative years, she was tied to a doghouse. Now, this girl can loop our 80 acres before our dogs can do one (and mind you – our dogs (except Petie) are athletes. We believe that she runs like this because she now can. In addition, she swims – yes swims, doggy paddle out in open water,. Now all you golden retriever owners don’t roll your eyes. Dobies are not prone getting in the water. Ask yourself, who is smarter? Some dog that incessantly jumps after balls in the pond or a dog that comfortably lounges in a chair on the shady porch. But Bella, she doesn’t swim to amuse her owner. Oh no, she loops the property and then swims (and drinks at the same time), then loops the property again. She is truly amazing. Yes – if this girl is going to have a drink (which is suspect because it might hinder her performance) – it better have CAFFEINE in it! Her cocktail:

Bella Donna’s Caffeinated Nite Cap

Piper AKA Pooty: OMG! This was the hardest drink to conceive – she is an enigma wrapped in a puzzle. She is calm, she is shy, she HATES human feet touching her, but she never has met a kitty that she didn’t love. She has this sad look on her face and she is prone to back up on you and gently put her foot on yours (but don’t try to do that to her – she will be gone in 2 seconds). She is a worrier and completely submissive to Tessa. Oh, and she smells like a coon dog. She is a good, misunderstood dog. It was hard. She is no stereotype. But I can’t help recall the listless Audrey Hepburn singing “Moon River” on her windowsill – that is Pipey and it called for her drink:

Pooty Golightly Champagne Splash

Four bad dogs? But there are five - Bella is just as special. And “who the hell is Glen’s Tiger Balls?” Well … let us explain! It was July and suddenly dead birds were showing up in the barn. Strange we thought, but the birds are vermin types, sparrows and starlings, we were DELIGHTED! but – was there poison somewhere? Nope – a cat staked out a claim in our barn. He is a big beautiful Tiger and he came neutered – some time later, our friend noticed that his ear was clipped – a sign of Humane Ohio, who neuters feral cats. We named him Barney.

A few days later, we were looking for Barney and we suddenly spotted him up in the hay piles. Sitting next to him was a petite, delicate, beautiful, gray cat; Barney had a girlfriend. “Great,” B said “that little girl is going to wander out of the barn and get knocked up.” There was no way we wanted a litter of kittens. “We have to get her spayed,” I said to B. But her current demeanor indicated that there was no way in hell that she would actually let us near her. Over the next few days, Barnedette was gone most of the time but showed up conveniently at dinnertime and ate Barney’s food while he passively let her. But she did start to warm to our presence (hey – we were the source of her food). One day, Barnedette turned up at dinnertime and turned around. We were quickly aware that Barnedette was not a she but a he. Awww – Barney is gay!

Meanwhile, friends of ours have a wayward friend named Glen, who is a cute, gay boy – young, svelte, but has been living at their house for quite some time. It’s never really apparent whether he really works or goes to school, but he has made himself a fixture in their minimalist house. When we discovered that Barnedette was a boy, B remarked, “great, Barney has a boy toy that shows up conveniently at dinnertime and eats all of Barney’s food.” I shot back, “I know! Let’s name him Glen.”

Glen was immediately (as soon as he would let us pick him up) neutered and is just the sweetest thing in the world. He is a lover! However, we could never forget that first time he turned around and displayed his tennis ball sized nuts. Hence the drink:

Glen’s Tiger Balls

Next step – creating the guest list! And the premise of the Fantasy Foodie experience is something we ultimately want to donate to benefit a deserving non-profit but we need friends on whom to practice, as we are amateurs and always experimenting on our friends. So if you want to participate and you actually read this blog – you may just be invited to this one … just leave a comment!