“Dr. Oz, who asked you?”
Dr. Oz is trying to do everything he can to mess me up. And, the man doesn’t even know me.
Oz is the guy with a one-hour health program that airs every weekday. There is only one way anyone could come up with an array of health related topics every day and present them in an interesting manner. He’d hafta make stuff up. Certainly the only way I could do it.
There’s not a bodily function that Oz is afraid to simulate or discuss. I’ve seen about two episodes and that was enough for me. There are some things happening in our nether regions that I don’t care to know about. Especially in your nether regions.
|The ol' pour water down your nose trick|
Unfortunately, Kay is a big fan of The Oz Man. She enjoys passing along some of his ingenious insights. Does that way too often. The latest thing she shared has ruined me. Life, as I have come to know it, is over for me. Thanks, Dr. Oz, you dodo-head.
I had just poured a cup of joe from my French press coffeemaker. The French press does to coffee what cheese does to macaroni. More than that. It turns sharp, bitter, strong coffee into a smooth, delectable mouth party. It has revolutionized the entire coffee experience for me. It’s like—I’m sorry. Where was I?
Oh, yeah, I’m in the kitchen pouring myself a cup of joe. Kay, with pencil poised over her Sodoku, said, “I saw on Dr. Oz that French press coffee is really bad for your cholesterol.”
Anywhere in that scene did you notice me asking her what Oz thought about French press coffee? I chose to ignore the unsolicited revelation. “If you’ll recall, your cholesterol was up considerably the last time you were tested.” Kay wouldn’t let it die. Had to twist the knife.
“What do I ask from life?” I asked. “A little laugh, a little dance, a little seltzer down my pants.” I got that from the Chuckles the Clown episode on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” I’ve adopted it as my life’s creed.
Kay didn’t grin, look up or reply. She does that when she’s upset with me. Sometimes I’d prefer a pinch. I told Kay I’d hafta research the finding just to make it sure it wasn’t one of those things that Oz made up. By the way, I don’t fault him for that. I’ve even made up two or three things in my column. Really.
Turns out Oz was right. I’d apologize for calling him a dodo-head, but I don’t want to. At this time, French press coffee is the bad way to go. In five years they may reverse that finding and say that it’s a cure for Alzheimer’s. But, for now, it’s bad.
The stuff that the French press does to make coffee taste better is the very thing that messes up your cholesterol. I read a half-dozen publications before accepting the finding. If you drink only two cups of coffee a day, you don’t have to worry about it. I drink only two pots a day. I’m surprised blood ever makes it to my brain. Those red cells are probably putting up a monstrous fight, ‘cause my memory is like a post hole.—I don’t know what that means.
Bottom line, today was my first day back to the ol’ drip method of coffee brewing. It’s like having a can of pork ‘n beans for supper after a lunch of Ruby’s pinto beans. I had to put the newspaper down and leave the room once, ‘cause I didn’t want Kay to see me cry. It’s as if I’m denying myself of laugh, dance and seltzer.
Brad and I were at “Another Broken Egg Café” today. Their coffee is among the best non-French press I’ve had. I think part of it is due to their coffee mug. It’s perfect in every way. And hand-potted. Uh, hand-shaped? Anyway, it’s got the perfect lip and handle and torso.
Tomorrow, I’ll try my new mug out on my homebrewed coffee. At times, coffee presentation can make a slight difference in the taste. We’ll see.
I’m sharing this information, not because I want you to quit using your French press. I care about that about as much as I do your nether regions. I wrote this in the hope a scientist might run onto this article and discredit the horror ‘caused by Dr. Oz.
The stuff that makes the coffee taste so good is the part that’s bad for you? I’m not a proponent of killing the messenger, but I’m not opposed to messing him up a little. After all, who asked him?
To view Whine and Dine's review of Freebirds click on pic.