Hay Fever Happens Out Here

When I was a tyke, I was diagnosed with "hay fever".  One of my jobs was to cut the grass, so this malady presented a problem not just for me but for the dispenser of my weekly allowance - my dad.  At the time the standard diagnostic test was pinpricks with various suspected antigenic substances on your back (over a hundred of them as I recall, each one circled and labeled via ballpoint pen) which then did or did not cause a local reaction.  The reactions after a half-hour or so could then be ascertained and an antigen soup formulated in some far-off lab.  Weekly injections of an increasing dosage of same were then initiated, with the hope that the body would gradually develop antibodies to the offending substances.  In my case I reacted to so many that they couldn't tell which ones I hadn't reacted to, but apparently camel hair was the worst offender.  (Camel hair!  I had never seen a camel in my life except from a distance at the Calgary zoo.  Perhaps Mother had a camel hair sweater.)  Anyway, I guess it didn't work, because I still get hay fever (and I still cut the grass).  Antihistamines help, of course, but then I'm dozier (than usual) and I'm kind of an anti-pill guy anyway.  My biggest allergy, thankfully, is eminently avoidable.

Petulants Endorsing Terrorist Activities (PETA)

PETA pisses me off.  The Calgary Stampede is their latest target.  No doubt it was a lot of the same miscreants, anarchists, and vandals that recently terrorized downtown Toronto during the G20 that are behind the whining about the perceived mistreatment of animals in Calgary.  Surely they must be aware that the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) monitors Stampede activities very closely - and has for years.  I have always respected and supported the SPCA for their tireless efforts out here, and will continue to do so.  They call it as they see it, and are quick to report any questionable activity.  In the past the SPCA hasn't pulled any punches in dealing with the Stampede.  PETA, on the other hand, has lost all credibility with me.  They break into research facilities, unleash dangerous animals onto the public, threaten and harass researchers, and generally utilize every terrorist tactic they can (including arson) to achieve their aims.  Stampede animals, and rodeo stock in general, are well-treated and lucky to live extended lives in the care of people who love them.  Rodeo grew out of everyday ranch practices that were necessary for the survival - not only of people - but the animals they depended on.  Practices that got the job done with a minimum of distress to the animal.  Don't like Western Canadian ranch culture?  Fine.  Stay where you are but be forewarned - we're watching how you care for those lapdogs of yours!

The Secret to a Great Steak

Barbecuing ("grilling" to our southern friends) is something men seem to either love or hate.  Either it's easy, fun and laid back - or too much trouble no matter what.  I know several men who won't go near a BBQ, and would rather starve than cook on one.  But in general, ever since some Neanderthal stumbled on a woolly mammoth cooked to perfection (medium rare, of course!) by a lightning-induced forest fire, man has loved being an omnivore.  (And don't let anyone tell you that vegetarian - or vegan or whatever - is what we're meant to be.  Those canine teeth - and I'm an certified expert on them - aren't there for grinding berries!)  Now I'm not a fancy BBQ chef.  In fact that's using the term a little too loosely.  (For true grilling expertise click on the Adventures in Cooking With Beth link at left.)  I only do easy stuff: steaks, chicken, kabobs, burgers and the like - anything about an inch thick.  But I have discovered what I consider the secret to successful barbecuing, at least for simple hunks of meat individually-portioned.  Yes, I need a really hot grill, my fave spice mix, a cold beer, and some background music, preferably Texas Swing on a warm summer evening.  (If coerced, I'll brush on "BBQ sauce", although real men prefer the taste of the meat itself, unbastardized by "goop".)  But my secret is in the suds - a single bottle of beer.  You see, as in many human endeavours, timing is everything.  That beer is my timer, when it's gone the meat - whatever it is - is done.  Don't believe it?  Try it.  I wouldn't apply the same timing method to a roast though - you might be risking divorce.

The Swiss Alpine Restaurant

Located in Pincher Creek, Alberta, "The Swiss" is one of our favorite haunts.  Occupying a former service station building at the junction of Highway 6 and Main Street a half-hour north of Waterton Lakes National Park, the place was renovated by the Swiss proprietors at least twenty-five years ago in a decor that seems at first a bit of a mixed metaphor: Swiss alpine/Alberta ranch.  It works though; the ambience is interesting and relaxed - and the food is the epitome of both cultures.  Some items are pure Swiss - rosti, Swiss salad, fondue, spatzli, and possibly the best rack of lamb on the planet, cooked with authentic (and secret) Swiss recipes. Fish, chicken, beef and seafood on a menu that hasn't changed in a decade keep us coming back for more.  The Swiss burger and classic Alberta steak sandwich are consistent crowd-pleasers, both sporting a reasonable portion and price.  On the lounge side, things look a bit rougher (scarred tables, animal heads and memorabilia on the walls, the pool table and video games at one end) but its ambience and regular denizens are a unique blend certainly not offensive to the palate.  Closed Sundays and Mondays, it's a good idea to make reservations on Friday and Saturday nights, especially if you're driving from Waterton or flying in from Toronto (as I'm told some folks do for the rack of lamb).  The lack of banquet facilities is quaint, although large groups can be accommodated easily with advance notice.  Did I mention the rack of lamb?  It's to die for.