Best In Show

After Ron and I had spent an hour or so listening to "The Retro Cocktail Hour" (best song of the night: "Danger in Go-Go Boots"), we flipped on the telly and happened upon the Eukanuba Dog Show. My favorite category was on: Toy Dogs. Most of them are too darn cute, even if they do spend five times longer on their hair than me. But it's obviously totally worth it. The way they prance around! And once they've been thoroughly inspected by the judge (Ron and I think they need to start training new judges because all of these dowagers are at least 85, still tottering around, peering into mouths and feeling unmentionable things), the dogs are put down on the floor to strut their stuff and they ALL shake themselves - I think it's to fluff out their hair again. This one female handler was nervously combing the dog's hair as the judge was approaching and when she was finished combing, she stuck the comb in HER hair. Yikes.

But perhaps THE BEST twenty seconds of the night was when this male handler was teasing his dog with a yummy doggy treat and then, I don't know, either he thought the treat was a Hershey Kiss or he just got really flustered by the judge's hands and their close proximity to the dog's jewels . . . he popped the treat INTO HIS OWN MOUTH. If I'm lyin' I'm dyin'. And then once they got to the trotting portion the handler spit the soggy mess back into his hand. I didn't see it at first, but all of the sudden Ron started yelling, "HE SAW IT, TOO!" I made him rewind it (again, the glories of dvr) and sure enough, the guy pops the treat into his mouth and the camera immediately cut to a shot of a man in the audience with a very confused look on his face, as if to say "Did that handler just . . . no, he wouldn't . . . oh, that poor dog" and then we see the man spit it out again. Well, I got to laughing so hard I seriously thought I was going to die because I couldn't breathe. I needed someone to slap me, but Ron was laughing, too, and I couldn't get his attention because - like I said - I couldn't breathe. I hadn't laughed that long since Alan Arkin was enlightening everyone in the car about the randiness of the ladies at the old folks' home in "Little Miss Sunshine."

Finally, if for some reason - like you've been in outer space for the last ten years - you haven't seen "Best In Show" you simply must. End of story.

The First Cut

I know, I know . . . Rod Stewart's song immediately comes to mind, but this has nothing to do with, well, you know.

It's about knives! I've become hooked on "Good Eats," hosted by Alton Brown on the Food Network. If you're dying to get some good culinary knowledge in a condensed, entertaining (albeit sometimes corny) manner, "Good Eats" is a sure bet.

The other night, Alton was elucidating on the finer points (!) of knife sharpening. Come to find out that the long sharpening weapon that came with our knives really doesn't do a lot of sharpening. Rather it brings the blade back into alignment. Every time your knife hits the cutting service it gets a little skewed. He recommended taking your knives to a professional sharpener. His knife guy happens to have a van outfitted with all the tools of the trade, which allows him to make house calls. How nice. I put Ron to the task of finding a knife sharpener and we found one. The Ambrosi Brothers (located around 30th & Main). For three bucks a blade we have pretty much a brand new set of knives. How very nice.

Ron mentioned my knife sharpening experience to a co-worker, who said that his wife would cut off an extremity (or two) if she had sharp knives. Well, what do you know? If you're going to slice yourself, it's much better to do it with a really sharp knife; dull ones leave jagged edges, slowing down the healing process (or making reattachment much harder!).

Now I can slice and dice til the cows come home. But, if they're smart (or happy) cows, they might want to step away from the blade.

Chef du Jour

I don't know why I'm like this, but I pretty much know what Ron gets me for every gift giving occasion before I even open the present. It's a curse, really. I wish I didn't know. It's not like I set out to figure it out. It just happens. This year, of course, was no exception. A couple of weeks before Christmas I saw a rather large package underneath the tree. By the time I had walked into the kitchen I knew what it was. A Cuisinart. A BIG one. I have a little baby one, but just a few weeks earlier we were watching "Barefoot Contessa" and she was using one to grate parmesan cheese. Because we have gone through a couple of cheese graters I said, "Now it would be nice to have a big one for that."

So, there it was, under the tree. I truly appreciate Ron's thoughtfulness, but I had to tell him to take it back. We have a galley kitchen with not a lot of storage and all I could think of is that we'd have no place to store it. And that I'd maybe use it once or twice a year. So, crestfallen, he returned it. "I'll get something for both of us," I offered.

I got us classes as the Kansas City Culinary Center, located in downtown Overland Park. If you haven't had occasion to drop by you really should. It's beautiful and always smells really yummy. They have a wide variety of classes, from beginner to experienced and many of them are hands-on. We had our first class tonight: Soups and Stocks. The perfect way to spend a snowy winter evening. Our teacher was Chef Cody Hogan, the Chef de Cuisine at Lidia's. It was a small class (only nine people) and in the span of two and a half hours, Cody whipped up chicken stock, vegetable stock, a potato soup base and, eventually four or five different soups. Oh, and we had a hummus/pesto appetizer that put me back in Italy in seconds. And, in a freestyle moment, Cody took some of the veggies he used in the stock and made a "salad" with a red wine viniagrette, which was really simple and unbelievably delicious. He also told us how he cooks chicken in his fireplace hanging from a string. Ron Martin was all over that. I'm sure we'll have a chicken hanging in our fireplace soon.

The only downside . . . he used a Cuisinart . . . made me kinda want one.