Cooking and writing are fun.
It is time for more cooking fun.
The Bistro menu is getting a facelift – the best steak tartare anywhere with quail eggs and American prime, some new Mexican mole presentations and a revisit to the Bistro foie slider.
The Doctor’s Office is getting meat pies and Eat Here some street corn and pork chops.
They are all building amazing new veggie creations, and it is time the Island got some crabcakes with real American crab.
My writing will move to the Bistro website. Anyone who tells one of our eateries that they read my article will get a glass of bubbly. You can lie if you want.
I picked this story to say bye-for-now because it is my favorite.
Jazz, our family pet, is the dumbest Jack Russell in history.
Some time ago we shared an airplane nightmare.
We were returning from a family visit to Seattle. The first leg on the return trip was Seattle to Vegas.
I had learned on the trip west that Jazz was resistant to tranquilizers and hated airplanes.
Jazz yip-yapped the whole way to Seattle.
It was a long six hours.
For the return event, the vet recommended a different tranquilizer.
He said two tablets.
I set my mind on four.
At eight in the morning, I gave Jazz a pill.
At nine, I gave Jazz another pill.
At 10, I was at the airport and Jazz was more alert than I was.
I walked her through the terminal.
There was no sign the tranquilizers were working.
She did not like the escalators, but she was nimble in her entrance, rise, and exit.
Jazz barked at all the black people and tried to pee on all the food vendors.
I was horrified by her treatment of the black people.
I cut her some slack on the food vendors.
Jazz has standards.
She gets a lot of Bistro take-home.
At the waiting area, she barked aggressively at a poor skinny kid sitting next to us who appeared to be recovering from chemo.
The kid looked decimated, weak and sad, and Jazz barked at him incessantly.
The kid got up and left for another seat.
I gave Jazz another pill.
Jazz should have been out cold by then.
I am an old white guy.
It has been my observation that old white guys traveling alone with little dogs are viewed askance.
I was getting that look at the airport.
“Oh, look at the old, white guy with the little dog barking at the black people.”
While waiting in the Southwest line Jazz whined and barked and tried to get out of the carrier.
People were looking at me disapprovingly.
“Look at the old, white guy hurting the little dog.”
We got on the plane.
“No, you can’t sit in the exit row you have a dog. You are an old white guy with a little dog, and you would be no good in an emergency.”
“No, you don’t get to put a bag with a book under the seat because that’s where the dog goes.”
I put Jazz’s backside under the seat in front of me.
I moved into the aisle so a young black couple could get seated.
Jazz barked at them because apparently Jazz always barks at black people.
They looked at me. “Great – an old, white guy with a little dog that’s been trained to bark at black people.”
Throughout takeoff, Jazz barked and whined and wriggled.
It was time for Plan B.
Plan B involved a small dropper bottle of marijuana CBD oil developed for dogs with anxiety.
I had scored some at a pot shop in Seattle. I also had a baggie of salami.
Plan B was to feed Jazz salami coated with CBD oil.
I steadied Jazz between my knees and dripped oil onto the salami and into Jazz.
Jazz gobbled the salami.
People were staring. They smelled pot.
“That silly, old, white guy is doing drugs with that dog.”
The bottle started leaking. The oil was on my fingers. It was on my clothes.
Everyone smelled pot and salami.
I smelled like a freshman pizza party.
Jazz got the munchies from the oil. Jazz wanted all that salami – NOW!!
Jazz was scrambling from the carrier –
SALAMI! More SALAMI!
She dove at the bag of salami. I dropped the CBD bottle, and it rolled, dribbling, into the aisle.
Then it occurred to me.
We were 35,000 miles in the air.
We were not on the ground in Seattle where there is a liberal attitude toward marijuana use.
We were on an airplane – federal jurisdiction – where marijuana is still an illegal substance and the feds take a very dim view of anyone screwing around on an airplane.
I was going to jail with this dog.
We were not arrested, but Jazz was manifestly stoned by the time we landed in Vegas.
She staggered off the plane.
She had done her weight in drugs.
A canine Hunter S. Thompson.
“Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”
I am grateful we both survived.
I will never again travel with a dog on an airplane.
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