you ain't nothing but a hound dog . . .

Years ago, I had an old friend tell me a story about his sister's two hound dogs. They were working dogs on their farm in Iowa and as such were outside beasties and not permitted in the house. Now lest you think his sister and her husband callous, they did let the dogs into a closed in porch come inclement weather. So when a particularly bad storm arose, she called both dogs and shut them in the porch overnight. In the morning, she opened the door to let them out only to find the pair of them rolling on their sides, ah-roo-ing and moaning, their fat little bellies extended beyond belief. Seems there was a sack of potatoes stored on that porch and the dummies, having sniffed the contents, managed to consume the entire 50 pounds or so of raw spuds. She quickly called the vet who chuckled and said put them outside and let nature take its course but don't give them water as their already full tummy's would be in worse shape. The dogs survived and were never again paired with taters.

The point to this story? Well, Saturday night, I decided to try out some of the culinary delights I had culled from the Food Network . . . food junkie that I am . . . and use my relatives as the guinea pigs. So with Frank, Joe, Jackie and Stacie scattered around the table, I served Tyler's Roast Pork with Cider Gravy, Giada's potatoes and cippoline onions, my husband's own recipe for spinach sauteed in garlic and olive oil, hot rolls and butter, red leaf and tomato salad and Ina's Apple and Pear Crisp with vanilla ice cream (minus the pears). I must say, it was quite good and I ate until I thought I would explode.

Two days later, I still feel like those Iowa hounds and am leery of water. But it was worth it.