Column: Warnng: Breakfast may be risky business

Oct 13, 2009 By Gale Hammond

Breakfast: It's the most important meal of the day according to some experts. So if you are reading this column while enjoying your morning meal, let me apologize in advance for any sudden urges to heave your breakfast burrito.

That's because an alarming food announcement was issued recently by a group in charge of scaring the bejabbers out of anyone who believes food consumption is pretty important in the Staying Alive Department. And you know who I mean; those food authority types who point out to us on a regular basis that the food we are about to consume is a festering, moldering mass of deadly microbes.

That's right, just when you thought it was safe to consume a leafy green, we're told - again - that serving up a big old dinner salad is about as dicey as taking a spin on the Indy 500.

"The Center for Science in the Public Interest" compiled the study, and if that doesn't sound like a suspicious outfit, I don't know what does. Heed the warnings and you will find yourself tiptoeing around the Public Interest folks' list of top 10 risky foods (in descending order): leafy greens, eggs, tuna, oysters, potatoes, cheese, ice cream (ICE CREAM??? Risky to WHAT? Our thighs?), tomatoes, sprouts and berries.

So what are we home cooks to do? Stop serving up staples like eggs, cheese or tomatoes since they are apparently teeming with bacteria? Well, it seems that we should, so my crack research department went to work finding a solution to this crisis. And in case you're wondering, my crack research department consists of me lying on our sofa the other night.

You'll be delighted to know that in doing this selfless research, I've uncovered some exciting new foods to tempt your palate. Furthermore, I'd speculate that the folks over at The Center for Science have never attempted to dissect these foods in the Public Interest. Nope. They wouldn't touch these babies with a 10 foot pole. Therefore, I suggest you do what I did and take a gander at an episode of the Food Network's "Next Iron Chef" because featured there was a whole plethora of victuals you've probably never thought of. If, for example, you thought lamb kidneys were exotic, you don't know what you've been missing. Take, for example, duck's tongue.



Now I don't know what circles you run in, but chances are you haven't encountered this delicacy as you've browsed your local meat counter. But bowls brimming with ducks' tongues, chicken feet and eel were only a few of the featured treats the prospective Iron Chefs were slicing and dicing over at the Food Network. Yes, I know these, um ... foods ... sound mildly yucky, but don't forget in our neck of the woods we eat garlic ice cream.

While I consider myself a fairly fearless cook at home, I admit to shuddering at the idea of whipping up dishes with such exotic ingredients. I mean, there on national television were professional chefs each about to dissolve into tears of frustration in their missions to create dishes using their assigned ingredients. What, for example, can one do with grasshoppers? Or "stinky tofu?" Or chicken feet? Or - egads! Cock's comb?

Now I'm not up on my reading of animal rights literature as it pertains to poultry, but there were an awful lot of rooster parts being bandied about in those Food Network kitchens. It made me wonder where on earth those various poultry appendages came from. I mean, somewhere there may be serious cases of chicken-rustling going on. And are there areas where large lakes are missing their ducks? Perhaps clandestine cults are springing up showing signs of chicken genocidal inclinations. It could happen, people!

So pity the poor aspiring (and perspiring) Iron Chef who draws - and I'm not making this up - un-laid bird eggs as his secret ingredient. I don't know about you, but a plate of fallopian tube pasta just doesn't, um ... tempt me somehow.

Imagine being a judge sitting on a panel tasting and weighing in on dishes containing grasshoppers, eel, or chicken feet. "I'm finding the cock's comb in your dish a little chewy," reprimands one judge looking down her nose at the platter of jaunty little topknots that previously adorned the barnyard's alarm clock. Well, HELLO?!!! It's a COCK'S COMB for Pete's sake. If you want tender, you might try a fillet.

Even if experts agree that ducks' tongues are "the other white meat" and have never seen the likes of a risky microbe, I can hear the naysayers now. But before you vow to never eat anything that came out of a duck's mouth, you might wish to reconsider. Where do you think those scrambled eggs you're having for breakfast came from? I rest my case.

Column: Clever Canine No Match for this Dog Whisperer

Oct 2, 2009 By Gale Hammond

The other day I let our small dog, Puddin', outside to do his 'business' when he came upon an interesting aroma out on the driveway. This could have been his own calling card or perhaps another wilder critter had passed this way. In either case, my stubborn Lhasa Apso was examining this find with great gusto and taking his sweet time about it.

"Puddin'," I called - and yes, I know it's a wacky name for a dog. I tried again because he hadn't budged. "Come here, Puddin'. Puuuuudddin' - Come on now, Puddin'...." Mind you, I was using my softest, most enticing voice because - let's face it - a woman standing on the front porch in her bathrobe yelling "Puddin'" at the top of her lungs is either crazy or having one ferocious snack attack. It's just not the best way to call attention to oneself.

I pulled out the big guns. "GOOD BOY, Puddin'! Come inside and get your COOKIE now! Puddin'? Come ON, Puddin'!!!"

"You should get a job with 'The Dog Whisperer,'" my spouse noted, watching our four-legged child mosey about on the driveway. "You have such command over the dog."

Ok, so Cesar Millan is not going to lose any sleep over this. But I am not bragging when I say that Cesar would be impressed with my dog grooming skills.

For the record, grooming my longhaired dog never made it to my bucket list because it is way harder than it looks. And it isn't masochistic tendencies making me subject myself to this torment. Nope. Puddin' has issues. Lots of issues but mainly with his eyes. Therefore, the loop that goes about the neck of a dog at a grooming salon is out. Puddin' can't even tolerate a leash - too risky for the glaucoma that plagues him following a rash of eye surgeries. So I inherited the task of tidying up the dog.

Now any fool knows that simply bathing a dog is easy. I mean, once you capture the dog that races to the far corners of the earth whenever he hears water running, the rest is a snap. Right? So what if the little scrapper pancakes on the floor and digs the nails of all four paws into the carpeting when you try to pick him up? I mean, who has the bigger brain here?

But I was uneasy at the thought of trimming those flowing locks that make Lhasas resemble living dust mops. Those buzzy little clipper things are unnerving. Besides, I haven't had the best luck with dogs and automated devices. Take for example the time I attempted to clean the teeth of our former Lhasa, Freddie.

The vet suggested I purchase one of those "water pick" type gizmos to reduce the plaque build-up on Freddie's teeth. Well. This sounds good in theory. In reality, all I can say is YOU try holding a small thrashing dog exerting roughly 97,000 pounds of force with one hand and with the other a fully loaded water pick as it gushes forth with the equivalent psi of a fire hose able to extinguish blazing infernos on the top floor of the Empire State Building. Yeah. Let's see how YOU do!

Freddie was beyond furious. No way was I getting anywhere near his pearly whites with that spewing volcano of water, which was by now shooting its contents wildly over the entire bathroom. Yes, after the Yellowstone-Geyser-Monsoon-in-the-Bathroom incident, I was reluctant to get into another battle of wills with a dog. That's when our friends, Bud and Susan, offered to give me a grooming lesson.

Bud grooms all their Lhasa Apsos, and he's darned good at it. So one sunny afternoon we headed over to Bud and Susan's home down in Newport Beach for a hands-on demo.

And it would've been helpful, too, except that Susan and I rapidly retired to the patio with glasses of wine to discuss important world issues such as our granddaughters. As a result, I didn't glean too much understanding of dog grooming, although I now know that Susan's granddaughter's next birthday party theme will definitely be 'Pink Princesses.'

"That's not how Bud does it," my spouse advised approximately 673 times when I'd finally launched out on my maiden dog-grooming voyage. "Listen, buster," I warned, brandishing my clippers at the man. "If you say that one more time I'm going to take these things to YOUR hair and believe me - it won't be pretty!"

And the results of my first do-it-yourself grooming adventure? Well, a racing stripe now runs along Puddin's right flank, a gift resulting from running the close-cutting clipper head a little too high on that side. But let's just remember hair DOES grow back - and besides. It gives Puddin' that rakish, STREAMLINED look that I find quite eye-catching.

Yep. Works for me!