The Fuzzy, Black Dogs' Taste Test

I fairly recently had a birthday. In fact, I turned 47, thank you very much. So far so good, right? Reflecting upon that vast amount of time, I realized that, while I enjoy playing in the kitchen, I haven't always been the avid, amazing chef that I am today.

While my poor wife and son put up with a lot of my craziness, at least they don't have to suffer my cooking. I can make an excellent chicken tetrazzini. My sister-in-law particularly liked my spinach stuffed manicotti I made once. My father-in-law likes my cakes and most everyone likes my manic, mad cookie baking binges!

While I am enjoying tooting my own horn, I must admit that not everything I make is a masterpiece.

There have been some gluten free bread loaves that would make great door stops. Cardboard tastes better than some of my gluten free saltine crackers. I've made some gluten free pizza crusts that failed two out of three fuzzy, black dogs' taste test (Bob eats anything!).

And my latest cooking venture? It was simply titled Meatza Pepperoni Pizza. It's been several days since I attempted that creation -- I just can't call it a meal.

Instead of a typical bread crust, it uses ground beef in place of the crust. That's right. No bread, just meat. My recipe didn't call for anything that could be misconstrued as healthy. Instead, it called for sauce, cheese and pepperoni. Each of these ingredients simply go on top of the meat crust.

"Good gosh, Dad," my son exclaimed. "Are you trying to kill us?! What is this? Cholesterol spiking, heart attack in a cookie sheet?!"

Needless to say, I won't be going into details on the "four star" recipe we printed off the internet. I won't even bother with some of the other comments that were made, except to say that it did pass the fuzzy, black dogs' taste test.

I will say, though, that it sure looked a lot better in the picture than it did in my house!

Like Snowflakes, No Two Bourbons Are Just Alike

First, the good news -- I've decided I need to make my very own barbecue sauce. I've got several recipes to choose from and adapt to my taste and style. And the bad news? It seems I've picked a sauce that lists bourbon as one of its main ingredients.

I suppose to any normal guy, this wouldn't be a setback. He would simply waltz into the local ABC Store, pick his favorite bourbon, purchase it at the counter and head back home to make his sauce. This, in fact, was my plan as I drove the short distance to the store. Never mind that this was only the third time I had ever even set foot inside the store.

I walked in and looked around. No bourbon. I looked straight ahead. No bourbon. I looked left. No bourbon. I then looked right, and, you guessed it, no bourbon. It wasn't until I turned around to leave that I saw it.

I figured there would be a few different types of bourbon from which to choose. As I turned around, I discovered the mother lode. Bourbons covered the entire wall. They seemed to stretch from the floor to the ceiling and from the door I walked through to the next wall, about five miles away! I started walking, hoping one would "jump out" at me. After 10 minutes of walking, I decided help would be needed.

In hindsight, asking for "help with the bourbon" may have been a little vague. The employee was super nice and super-uber knowledgable about his bourbons. Perhaps a little too knowledgable.

You got high octane and low octane (my terminology, not his, with 'octane' referring to the proof) bourbons. You got all the ones in between, too. You got true bourbons and southern bourbons, which are better known as whiskey bourborns, or just whiskey. You got... He went on like this for a while, blissfully unaware that my fight or flight reflex was about to kick in.

"Now if you'll just step over here with me," he said. I followed. "These are what we call bourbon mixes..."

"I just want to make barbecue sauce with it," I said quickly, holding a hand up. I was ready to make a mad run for the door and my car.

From that point on, things progressed much more smoothly. He asked me questions about my recipe and whether anyone would be drinking the bourbon. I answered his questions and let him know that nobody, especially me, would be drinking it, as my last experience with consuming licquor flashed through my mind.

Within five more minutes, we actually settled on one and I made it out of the store, bourbon in hand, in one piece! And I managed to keep it under an hour, too!

Needless to say, I've since made my barbecue sauce. The sauce failed to receive the 14 year-old's seal of approval. It certainly didn't get the wife's seal of approval or even the brother-in-law's seal of approval. Let's just say it had a strong flavor.

I'll just have to continue experimenting with the other ingredients. I still have nearly a full bottle of bourbon left in the cabinet and I won't be purchasing another soon!