TheSnackHound

I received a high volume of email about my Pathogens post, so I am going to regale you with a similar mother+microscopic parasites story.

I was visiting my parents, and my mother was a little grossed out by my dogs licking my face.

“There was a guy who got TAPEWORM because he let a dog lick his lips,” she announced.

I scratched my head, “My mouth isn’t OPEN when they lick my face, and my dogs have a clean bill of health.  They don’t have worms.”

This went on for a few days.  I wondered where she heard this.  She indeed works at a vet clinic so this could be plausible.  However, she also was the one who taped Ann Landers colums to my bedroom door when I had lizards.  It was a story about someone who got salmonella from a pet turtle.  It turned out you can get it if you are a two year old who decides to lick a turtle, or to let the turtle help you prepare chicken for dinner.  Since I didn’t have turtles, nor would I ever lick my lizards, my likelihood of getting salmonella was very low.  There was also the big scare of 1995 when I got the flu or several bad headaches, she thought I must have toxic shock syndrome.  I was beginning to feel like Typhoid Mary.

Today the truth came out when i finally sat down to hear the story of the tape worm spreading dog.  I thought that I could be in for one of my mom’s “sorta kinda got half the story public service annoucements.”

“This guy’s lips were blue and they were losing him.  They found out that his spleen was rock hard and getting bigger, and they had to remove it in emergency surgery.  There were tapeworms that attacked his spleen and looked like they had been growing there for 30 years.  He was asked how could he have had tapeworms that long? It turned out that 30 years ago, he went to Cambodia.  It was the summertime, and a feral street dog licked his face and licked him on the lips, and they figured out that the dog must have had tapeworm fragments on his saliva that they passed to the guy.  All that time the man had been living with it.”

I said to her,” Okay.  First off, a feral dog wouldn’t probably lick somebody’s lips.  They would steer clear of people. ”

“Well, maybe it was a stray. Or it was a puppy.”

I continued: “Secondly, my dogs aren’t feral street dogs living in a mostly very humid country that has third world conditions in some parts of it.  They see the vet and get their shots regularly, they are on heartworm preventative and are tested every year for other worms.   They have not lately been near a river in Cambodia.”

“Well,” she said, “Fleas spread tapeworms, so you never know.  Fleas travel.”

“How does a flea who doesn’t live very long travel around the world? (BELOW: Photo of a flea performing in a flea circus…unless he is pulling around a cart in Cambodia…) How can a tapeworm fit inside a flea anyways? Aren’t they bigger than fleas?”

“Eggs.  Or fragments.”

“But if it is tape worm ‘fragments’ wouldn’t the tape worm be dead?”  I was really rationalizing now, “Like a killed vaccine.”

“You went fishing when you were a kid.  You know that if a worm gets cut in half that it can grow back the part that is missing.”

“But not if it is in twenty different fragments. And those were night crawlers.”

“Maybe it would be enough.”

“But a dog’s mouth is WAY cleaner than a human mouth.  I am more likely to make THEM sick.  But my mouth is closed.  And there aren’t too many diseases that humans can carry that can make a dog sick. So that won’t happen.”

“But it happened.  So you have to stop your dogs licking your face”.

And that was that.  So there you have it.  One guy, allegedly according to my mother, got tapeworm thirty years ago, allegedly from a dog, and not from wading in a swamp, getting bitten by a flea himself, or eating something that he shouldn’t have eaten while in a foreign land that wasn’t pasteurized or FDA approved. Go figure.

Dear Gordon Elliot,

You make me very sad.  Truth be told, you really don’t, but you make me somewhat wistful, if wistful means a tepid mixture of reminiscence and regret.  I miss your show, Door Knock Dinners.  It was on back in the earlier days of the Food Network, when they were just trying things out.  The game show, Can’t Cook, Won’t Cook was also on.   That is a topic for another day.

On the show, you wandered around a town, scouring the parking lots and the side streets for someone passing by, accosted them and asked them if you can come to their house and make them dinner.  I don’t know why that freaked people out. Women in sweat suits ran in the other direction and men in baseball caps just flipped their brims down.  They didn’t realize what they were missing!  If only they were willing, they would experience the culinary majesty of you making them a masterpiece…or at least something edible…out of the Twinkie, small portion of freezer burned casserole, a Dove ice cream bar popsicle stick, and McDonald’s mustard packets you had around the kitchen.

I have never sent this letter.  I could.  I found out that Mr. Elliot is alive and well and a produce of several food related shows, but alas, Door Knock Dinners is just a dim memory.  I don’t even have a picture or a Youtube of the show.  If I wanted to, I could probably write a letter to the production company and it might get to a publicist or his second assistant’s third assistant.  How would it ever get in to his hands without someone else already deciding if he would read it or not, and at such a moment that it may persuade him to bring back my favorite cooking show of all time?  It was all about spontaneity, persuasion, and ultimately, making due.

The only way I could think of is to find out where he is on social networks.   In fact, I have been reading about and mulling over MyLife. It is a site that aims to deliver on the promise of helping you find people from your past that you want to find. It extracts information from various sites where they may have a profile. In other words, the people in question want to be found.

The question is: Was Gordon Elliot really a part of my life?  No, I never knew him personally, but yes, he was.  The zaniness kept me company through bouts of flu, bad roommates, bad cake, and a bad relationship.  Of course, when I went through a streak of being healthy (how could I?) and worked a lot, I didn’t see as much of him. The show is now a distant memory, with the only content available occasionally being a clip of the Iron Chef edition of Door Knock Dinners. Could I potentially type him in and find out what social networking site was best to make sure that he would personally get my note? I don’t know.  He doesn’t share a school connection or work affiliation with me, so it would take some doing to wade through the sea of Gordon Elliots around the world.

If you have someone that you legitimately knew in a two way situation (you knew their name, but they also knew yours), you could possibly benefit from the site.   You might be surprised who has been wondering what happened to you, too.

For years, there were folks I knew around the Northeast that would take a day or a one night trip to New York City.  They would look at all of the fantastic Christmas window displays, buy some Christmas presents, and then maybe take in a Broadway show or see the Rockettes.   Of course, all sorts of culinary delights awaited you if you had the time.

The Hilton is promoting the Hilton Promenade at Branson Landing as the real ultimate place to go this holiday season.  Yes, Branson.   I always remember on The Simpsons that there was a brochure that said: “So You’ve Settled for Branson.”    Actually, in the past decade, it is being promoted as a “family friendly Vegas.”    There are a few different packages to choose from at both this property and the Hilton Branson Convention Center Hotel.  All of the packages are in tune with the season and have names like “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”   Packages includes features such as visits with Santa, Spa Treatments and more. For example, at the Hilton Promenade, the Santa in Branson Packages includes breakfast for four, picture with Santa, cookies and milk, and gifts for registered children.

The package that I think would be the most memorable would be the Polar Express package.  For $289, a family of four receives deluxe accommodations, first class tickets on the Polar Express, hot chocolate, a souvenir ceramic mug and more.   If you have additional children, or have other folks who would like to ride with you, additional advance tickets are available at $49.00 per adult and $39.00 per child.  Children are considered between the ages of 2 and 12.  Of course there is a Christmas Song that is “to kids from 1 to 92,” but the idea of “kid” is a little less loose here.

So, if you need a little break this holiday season, either before the festivities begin, or want to celebrate by taking a break from the relatives, Branson, with the views of the Ozarks might be a new place for you to try.

This little Mountie plate is available for sale on Etsy.  It is a souvenir of Canada, yet it is English china.  In other words, it is made in England. It may seem more appropriate than you think, as in Canada, the royals and other English accoutrements are well regarded, even when during some historical errors, it was not the same in the States. We just had too many bad memories of that business.

Despite this info, it still had me wondering what I would use a tiny plate like this for.  Would I get a tiny plate holder and display it?  Knowing me I would probably use it to put my wasabi and soy sauce.   I may even use it for change on a dresser.  What about for a salt plate?  I never seem to use things for their intended use.   In this case, I am not really sure what the intended use is.    Maybe all of the above is the intended use.  Maybe it is for someone who wants to buy every china pattern, but can’t afford to buy every single one, so they just get a tiny plate of each.

What about you?  What would you use this tiny plate thing for if you were to buy it, or if you do decide to buy it?

I will admit to having window shopped recently.  Why did I just window shop and not go in?  I decided to take a stroll at 10 P.M., and the store was closed but some of the lights in the windows were still on.  I don’t know if the sweater I was looking on was a deep eggplant color, or if it was actually really dark in there and it was supposed to be lavender, but the lines of the piece looked good.

Purple does seem to be the “it” color right now, and that is a good thing. I just don’t do well with white or beige clothing. The minute I wear something white, I am invited to share a big plate of marinara with someone, or I make chocolate ganache. Yes, white clothing seems to be a “one time use” item for me. The beautifully delicate looking cotton eyelet at left would definitely be a big fat no. Of course, I would want to try on the dress anyhow. Lucky for me its an outlet item and they don’t have my size. That certainly saves me from the latest, “Oh, let’s try white again,” kick.

A couple months ago, a video called Red Chair Confessions went viral on the internet. I speculated that the add was a tease from Red Box (though it is not really their style) or Target (why? Because of the color red.) It turned out to be neither of these companies. Although it is a bit more suggestive than I thought they were capable of…it was actually…. (drumroll)

…Talbots.

Now it all finally makes sense.  She did nothing illicit, she just can’t believe she is actually shopping at the same store that old money fifty-five year old women from New England shopped at, including her mother.  I will admit, the store window I was pressing my nose up against at 10 P.M. was Talbot’s.  It seems that the lines are still classic, but it is much more updated.

In fact, I think the company is moving in the right direction, because it seems like their website is Weenie Dog approved.  As you know, Dachshunds are a very important interest category as the two real life Snackhounds are doxies.  They always put news items at the top of my inbox when they suspect it might be related to helping out the cause of another Weenie. I fall for anything with a hotdog in it and they know it.  FOILED AGAIN!

Of course, sometimes the presence of a Dachshund is just a cheap shot. Companies around the world know that if they put a Dachshund in the ad, especially if it is a rescued Weenie, that I am automatically going to pay attention because I am a sucker. No, I am not some megalomaniac that things all marketing departments think that they need to synchronize their watches to my whims. But Dachshunds help. So does chocolate and horses. And Chevette Scooters. Why Chevette Scooters? It gives me an opening for a funny story. It involves five people, a dog, and a very long trip.

At any rate, enjoy your Talbot’s, your purple sweaters, your lap if a dog has graced it with the presence of its butt. Above all, buy up all the white button down shirts at Talbot’s before I lose my mind again and think chocolate, pasta sauce, and white clothes truly mix.

Mom recently had knee surgery.  Dad had the same surgery and was up and around within three days.  Mom, on the other hand, is taking a bit longer as hers was more involved.  She was going to be off of work for a week, and now she is home for over seventeen glorious days.  Ah, do you detect sarcasm?

I love Mom, but she is getting a touch of cabin fever.  I woke up to the strong smell of vinegar.   I thought someone must have purchased an entire vat of pickles and smeared them all over the floor, but it was only Mom cleaning out the coffee maker with a Costco sized bottle of white vinegar.   At six A.M.  I don’t rise that early, but the merriment had ensued beginning at that time.

I shuffled myself off to work in the office, occassionally poking my head out for a drink of water, or to let the little SnackHounds out to do their business.  Lo and behold, I decided to soak a pan overnight.

“You don’t have the pan soaking!  It’s not enough water.”

“What?”  I really did hear exactly what she was saying, but just didn’t understand how a pan full of water is not enough.

“See, there is a lip here.  You missed the top of the pan.  It’s not filled all the way up.”

“Oh.  Well.  That’s like two millimeters.”

“But its not to the top.  It needs to fill up and spill over.”

“Well, doesn’t the water slosh around when you turn on the faucet to rinse other stuff?  Or it might settle around at night.”

“Water doesn’t settle.”

Okay, so touche’.   I proceeded to scrub out the pan, now that the grime had been miraculously lifted despite being two millimeters shy of water.  Well, if it didn’t get completely soaked, would there be a crust there?  Maybe that’s how French chefs season their pans. They put painter’s tape over the crust they want to keep.  At any rate, I scrubbed the heck out of that thing and rinsed it about 67,000 times and then put it in the dish drainer.

“Wait, you didn’t rinse it enough.”

“What?” I asked.

“You didn’t rinse the other side again.  And there’s a very tiny mark on it.  You have to rinse off all the pathogens. There are pathogens everywhere!”

“I already rinsed it 40 times, you just weren’t looking.  Aren’t pathogens microscopic?  You can’t see them.  This pan could have a spot on it and there might be none of them.  Or it could look clean and be infested.”

Of course that is not what she wanted to here.  I sallied forth.  “Mom, get a little joy out of life.  So there’s one little spot on the pan.  Why fight people about it? Just find some happiness.”

“Well, clean dishes make me happy!”

I guess that game was over.

Moving back in with your parents after having lived in two different states, on one’s own, with roommates, married, then divorced is a big adjustment.  Of course, there are matters of personal space.  I have solved that largely by keeping all of my baking stuff in a box under my bed and then bringing out when I use it.   However, there is a big competency obstacle.  Mom thinks I am 18 years old again and I don’t know a heck of a lot about life.  Maybe she will have a different view of me as time goes on…when I finally move out…which will hopefully be soon.