Risky Business
The One About the One That Got Away
From Karyl’s Cook & Tell Column (February 21, 1980)
Those sweepstakes come-ons that arrive in the mail hold no magic for me. I have never bought a lottery ticket. I wouldn’t be interested in the stock market even if they started carrying natural foods and stayed open 24 hours a day. So I am at a loss to explain what came over me when I took the big chance a few Thursdays ago.
Thursday has been my day for holding small, morning cooking classes for four people at home. The sessions wind up with five of us sitting down to dine on the grub I’ve demonstrated. All the other Thursdays before this one, I have stashed Jack my dog in the back seat of the car parked in the garage, where he spends the ensuing two or three hours going for an imaginary ride.
Jack was brought up on this gimmick. It always came in handy at house selling time—who knows how much the intrusion of a cold nose might influence an offer—and at tea party time (know anybody who’ll accept a refill, when a dog has been seen lapping the milk pitcher?). I’ve never felt guilty about the subterfuge, but I will admit to feeling a tiny bit sorry for him when I’ve employed it.
It must have been the accumulated sympathy that made me take the gamble and let Jack stay in the house, just this one time. Also, I think I wanted to show him off. Sympathy may not be on the list of deadly sins, but pride certainly is. It’s the deadliest, I seem to remember. It goeth before a fall.
The risks involved in my decision were many. Jack is a first-class itch in the presence of unfamiliar people, often intruding a damp muzzle into laps, striking innocent arms with a determined paw, sighing peculiar and annoying setter sighs. Not even counting these potential nuisance factors, there was the whole matter of food. This large dog of our is the original chowhound. Would he be uncouth and drool? Would he urge his way into my pint-size galley, thus upsetting the class, in quest of crumb and droplet, as he does on his regular patrol all other days of the week?
And the big question: Would he, whose sonar can detect whether an outside door has completely latched simply by the sound it makes closing, make the great escape he is always angling to make, between the comings and goings of the class members? For Jack is no stay-at-home, when conditions allow. Elaborate, time-consuming plans have had to be developed over the years to cope with getaways. Because, while he has mastered the art of departure, the importance of return appears to have eluded him completely.
Therefore, it was with no small amount of pride and pleasure that I performed my kitchen routine with the class that morning, aware that the noble-looking creature lying benignly in the dining room was minding his own canine business. So worried had I been about his manners, that I had forgotten how gorgeous he could be. As he lay in regal repose, his black backside decorated with a rainbow of light refraction from the prism in the window, I thought smugly to myself, how right my decision!
During lunch, we all admired the well-behaved male guest who was miraculously keeping his distance from the table. If dogs have memories and any sense of time, Jack knew this was Thursday again, and Thursday always means at least five luncheon plates and dessert plates, plus countless bowls and pans to lick once the students are gone. That should be bounty enough, eh, Jack? Why mess it up and lay your chin on the table and nudge plates in front of all these strangers, right?
The class left, one by one. And just before the last one left, so did Jack.
Rescue Plan A went into effect immediately, whereby a vehicle is dispatched in the direction the subject is known to have taken off at top speed. The object is to get ahead of the subject, so that the subject believes he is chasing the vehicle. This performance goes on for about two or three miles at a speed of about 25 mph, to the accompaniment of horn blowing, whistling and assorted cheers to sustain the competitive spirit and flush the subject out of the woods when necessary. By the time the vehicle enters the driveway at home base again, the subject—now lagging from exhaustion—is ready for the back seat of the car, which he accepts as a reward for a great chase (I think.)
It worked, as it always does. And, sigh, in spite of the mutual double cross, he still got the plates and pans to lick. Not that there was much of them left to lick. The main course had been Fried Fish Rolls, and they were too good to leave much more than the toothpicks that held them together.
Amie’s Headnotes
I’m still not quite sure how I feel about pairing fish with ham. Aside from the bacon loophole that exists only if I’m out somewhere having brunch or in a diner ordering a BLT and fries, I’m not a meat eater. But even so! As with everything else, though, preserving the vintage vibe of 80s recipes is very much on brand for this newsletter. If you also think ham is weird with fish, you have my full permission to skip it.
FRIED FISH ROLLS
½ pound white fish fillets (like sole)
1 T. fresh minced ginger root or 1 t. ground
½ t. salt
4 slices ham, shredded
½ c. raw spinach, shredded
For the Batter
1 c. flour
1 egg, beaten
2/3 c. water
1 T. sesame seeds
Cut fillets into pieces about 2” x 4”. Stuff with mixture of remaining ingredients, roll up and fasten with toothpicks. Combine batter ingredients and mix well. Dip rolls into batter and deep fry. Don’t worry about stuff falling out. A certain amount may, but the batter really glues it all together.
Dip rolls into soy sauce or a sweet-and-sour sauce.
Amie’s Endnotes
Jack was our first dog and from the moment he chose us at the animal shelter, he had our hearts. Part Gordon Setter, German Shorthair Pointer and Saint Bernard, he was a big boy with an even bigger appetite.
He accompanied me in on my frequent summer dives in the cove across the street; up the stairs at bedtime; in the backseat on a cross-country family road trip. He was the brother I’d never had.
Mom and Jack are gone now, but like her old newsletter, I’ve resurrected the old dog. Max, the current black canine who has my heart, is the official Cook & Tell mascot in this digital incarnation. He’s not only a member of the clean plate club like his nemesis, but he also hosts his very own book club.
Your Pantry Pals,
The Cook & Tell Library | Recipe Index | Owner’s Manual | Notes | the micro mashup | instagram
For more about Jack, including another daring escape, here’s one with a recipe for his favorite apple cake.
for the love of dog - what is it about these creatures that hold our hearts? and, what are your thoughts on yesteryear ??
Love this story! 🐾