What Up, Dog?

“Yessir, I’ve hit on a great scheme. The idea of a thousand years.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to train dogs.”

“Train dogs?”

“For the music-hall stage. Dog acts, you know. Performing dogs. Pots of money in it. I start in a modest way with these six. When I’ve taught ‘em a few tricks, I sell them to a fellow in the profession for a large sum and buy twelve more. I train those, sell ‘em for a large sum, and with the money buy twenty-four more. I train those--”

In the short story above--“Ukridge’s Dog College”--Stanley Ukridge explains his plan to get rich to a skeptical friend. As in any P.G. Wodehouse story, things don’t go as planned. Wodehouse was a master of both the English language and humor, whose rich cast of characters included dimwits of both the English upper classes and lower classes and a menagerie of animals, from prize pigs to angry swans to destructive dogs. Wodehouse could be extraordinarily funny while gently mocking British society’s foibles because of the truth in his observations. And the British are just as barmy about dogs in 2009 as they were in 1909.

Americans could also be described as crazy about dogs. If you don’t believe me, just go to a dog show. Or failing that, rent the DVD “Best In Show.” Dogs are both pets and family members. They get to lie by the fireplace on cold nights and in front of the fan on hot days with their legs in the air. They sleep on our beds and couches whether we let them or not. We buy them special gear, send them to special dog schools and take them to special dog parks like we do our children to soccer practice.

Much the same is true here; Luxembourg dogs appear to lead a charmed life. But there is one rather large difference between Luxembourg dogs and American dogs. In America, despite their coddling, dogs occupy a lower social order. You can’t take them into restaurants, malls or movie theaters, unless they are service dogs. Last year I saw a woman get politely ejected from a QFC supermarket in Seattle because she had her Bichon Frisé propped in the child carrier of the grocery cart.

That wouldn’t happen here. In Luxembourg (and many other parts of Western Europe, for that matter), dogs go everywhere their owners go. When I was out with my son Trevor for lunch a week ago, a little pug not far from us relaxed in his own little rattan shopping bag while his owner enjoyed a salami panini and a Bofferding beer. His patience was rewarded with occasional panini tidbits.

Dogs actually appear to have more rights than children in European hotels. When we traveled to Paris not long ago, it was difficult to find a hotel that would allow two children in the same room with their two parents. However, I could have packed the Citroën with hounds and it would have been okay. It’s a little baffling. Our kids, being generally well-behaved, won’t poop on the carpet or chew on the furniture. They even bathe regularly. I can’t say the same for your average Citroënload of hounds.

However, there is a dark side to doggy love.

Another difference between America and Luxembourg is that America has pooper scooper laws in most cities. Not so here. The sidewalks are littered with turdmines of a canine nature, just waiting to go off on unwary boot heels. Once in a long while, city workers with push brooms will tidy things up. Most of the time, rain, sun and inattentive pedestrians take care of the problem.

Every now and then you’ll see dog and master out for a walk, the one with opposable thumbs carrying a plastic baggie. But that’s pretty rare. And with the high percentage of foreigners who work in Luxembourg, odds are they’re from somewhere else. Somewhere with a higher level of turd guilt. Lest you begin to think that Luxembourg is like the feudal England of “Holy Grail” lore, (“Denny, there's some lovely filth down here!”), where the walking surface was composed of mud and assorted excrement, Luxembourg is really clean and put together. There’s just this one messy quirk....

Thomas Jefferson once wrote, "The price of freedom is eternal vigilance." In Luxembourg, eternal vigilance is the price for freedom from crap-encrusted soles. I encountered the ultimate close call the other day--a doggy land mine in the central walkway of an indoor mall. Some poor soul had already made contact and paid the price. I thought of the English martyr John Bradford, who famously said, “There but by the grace of God go I.” A trail of brown footprints faded into the distance.

John Bradford

Simple Kitchen

The Chastains have been in Luxembourg for a year now. In that time I’ve been learning what seems to be an enormous amount about this country and its people. At the same time, I know that I’m only scratching the surface. In terms of food, I’ve been paying attention to how Luxembourgers cook and shop. In contrast to America, beef takes a back seat to pork. There’s a greater emphasis on cured meats such as ham, sausages and salt cod. We don’t get so many clams and oysters here, but mussels fly off the shelves at an astonishing rate. The chocolate section in American grocery stores is but a fraction of the chocolate aisles here. 

Beyond ingredients, I’ve been learning a lot of things about myself. One that jumped out at me the other day as I was cooking dinner was the complexity of my life in Seattle and the comparative simplicity of it here. Our Luxembourg apartment is nice, but like many apartments, the kitchen is compact, with very limited storage. Yet for a year now I have been doing quite comfortably with a fraction of the kitchen gear that I owned in Seattle. 

To explain, we own a house in Seattle to which we will be returning once our expat adventure is over. That house contains our dream kitchen. When we first peered in the windows while house-hunting, my comment (which I still remember vividly) was, “Wow. You could land a Cessna in there.”

You almost could. The kitchen is huge, built for someone who really liked to cook for groups. We renovated it, adding a professional six-burner gas range top and similar appliances. We put in new cabinets, counters and flooring. It was a labor of love that lasted several years. When it was all finished, we moved out of the country. 

We had more drawers and cupboards than kitchen gear to fill them. Naturally, junk started to materialize in those drawers, because deep down inside, we are all pack rats, storing interesting things away on the off chance that we might need them one day. I had numerous gadgets that I rarely used. An apple slicer, for one example. By the time I dragged it out of the back of the drawer, I could have sliced an apple with a paring knife. 

So I have a humble proposal: to simplify and to prioritize. This isn’t an original concept; many others (most recently Alton Brown) have long lauded the virtues of simplicity. The reason why might be more original. It’s not just an economic thing; it’s not just a “reduce, reuse, recycle” thing. And it’s not merely for efficiency’s sake. I say do it for the virtue of simplicity. 

I’ve been very appreciative of that virtue lately. I don’t watch much television; the only English channel we get is CNN, and I can’t take more than twenty minutes of that. I’ve been getting through my reading list at a faster pace than I’ve had in years. I found a fountain pen that I love, and have been writing letters home on a regular basis. I haven’t become a technophobe; I merely have rediscovered some simple things that have added immensely to the value of my life.   

Here’s the way I think simplification in the kitchen should work. Get a few high-quality pieces of equipment and use them up. Get equipment that can be used for many purposes. A good example is kitchen thermometers. You can buy half a dozen types of thermometers; all you need is one. The Thermoworks Thermopen Candy Thermometer is water resistant, instant reading and accurate, and can be used for anything from candy and deep-frying to roasts in the oven. 

Another great example is kitchen knives. I recently bought a fascinating book--An Edge In The Kitchen; The Ultimate Guide To Kitchen Knives by Chad Ward. It not only discusses types of knives and how to sharpen them perfectly, it dares to go into the philosophy of which and how many knives to get. 

According to Chad Ward, you only need three knives. Period. When Cammy and I got married, we did what many engaged couples did--bought a pretty wood knife block from Macy’s, filled with nearly a dozen pieces of German cutlery. To be honest, the knives aren’t that bad; we keep them sharp and we baby them. But were I to do it all over again, I would buy an 8-to-10 inch chefs knife, a 3-to-4 inch paring knife, and a serrated bread knife of at least 10 inches. Also a good sharpener. Living in the Northwest, I would consider getting a slim and flexible salmon knife that could also be used for roasts, turkey and hams. That’s it. 

The follow up to simplification is prioritization. Focus on the type of cooking you like to do. Unless you’re a professional chef or a very accomplished amateur who is cooking a wide variety of cuisines, you don’t need every piece of gear. I’m not suggesting everyone start throwing out their cookware. We can’t have Williams-Sonoma go out of business, can we? If you like to bake, get a real baking setup. Same thing with grilling or entertaining or candy making. Each of these requires pricey specific equipment to do it well. As a former coffee and tea professional, I have enough coffee and tea gear stored away to fill my present kitchen. I have more ways to make coffee than there are days in the week, but I only use a couple of them.   

Try this and I guarantee that you’ll save money and have more space in your kitchen More importantly, you’ll start to become aware of what you have, what you use, and the virtue of living at a simpler level. The alternative is to buy an airplane hangar and start renovating it into your dream kitchen.