Isegoria

Joel Stein does some investigative journalism, of a sort, in Horse — It’s What’s for Dinner:

I was moved by the volume of tributes to Barbaro upon his passing: front-page articles, thousands of cards from fans, a college scholarship in his name. Then I found out Barbaro was a horse.

Here’s what they do with dead horses in the rest of the world: they eat them. But in our country the thought of eating horse is so taboo that the American Horse Slaughter Prevention Act was just reintroduced in Congress — although there are even fewer horses eaten than flags burned. Despite our reputation, it turns out we are actually a nation that thinks like a 14-year-old girl.

The only thing that made me wary about eating horse is that Brigitte Bardot, perhaps the hottest woman ever, has spent her postacting career campaigning for a ban on the meat. That seemed convincing until I found out that Bardot also backs Jean-Marie Le Pen, the far-right French politician, and has bashed Muslims, gays and the presence of women in government. Plus, she hasn’t aged all that well.

I decided not to let a bunch of horse freaks, regardless of how hot they once were, prevent me from eating meat enjoyed in Japan, Belgium, France, Italy, Sweden, the Netherlands, Germany and Austria. I quickly found out, however, that it’s just about impossible to get a good piece of horse in the U.S. There had been three horsemeat-processing plants here that shipped meat overseas for consumption by humans and kept some behind for consumption by animals. But the two plants in Texas were ordered shut last month when a court of appeals agreed to enforce a 1949 state law banning the sale of horsemeat to be eaten by people. The one in Illinois was unwilling to ship some to me in California because my state’s laws make selling horsemeat for dinner illegal, even though I promised not to reveal where I got it.

So, when he finally got some horse meat shipped from across the border, how was it?

When I opened my package, I couldn’t believe how deeply red the meat was. The Japanese call it sakura, which means “cherry blossom,” because of the color. [...] It turned out to be pretty awesome — a sweet, rich, superlean, oddly soft meat, closer to beef than venison. I put some slices over a salad of arugula with olive oil and a splash of lemon juice and some caramelized onions. It was like a livelier, lighter braseola.

Jon Mooallem examines the fad for Designer Dogs:

So-called designer dogs became popular a decade ago, beginning with the Labradoodle and other poodle crosses that sought to affix the poodle’s relatively nonshedding coat to other breeds. But the puggle, a designer dog with no clear design objective, seems to have set off an almost unintelligible free-for-all. Pugs alone are now being bred to Yorkshire terriers, Shih Tzus, bichon frisés, Pekingese, rat terriers, Boston terriers, dachshunds, Jack Russell terriers and Chihuahuas to create, respectively, Pugshires, Pug-Zus, Pushons, Puginese, Puggats, Pugstons, Daugs, Jugs and Chugs. Beagles mount Bostons. Chihuhuauas do Yorkies. Beagles and basset hounds are making Bagels; bassets and Shar-Peis are making Sharp Assets — “a more laid-back dog that says, ‘If you don’t feel like taking me for a walk, no big deal,’ ” Havens’s Web site claims. Poodles are being pushed further into a goofy taxonomy of portmanteau labels: Maltipoos, Eskipoos, Doodleman Pinschers.

He also discusses the phenomenon on NPR.