So this is what death feels like.

Many people say that sex is the single most trust-requiring act on the planet. You are the most vulnerable you will ever be when you are having sex.

To them, I say clearly they have never had a root canal.

As I sat in the dentist's chair yesterday, his rubber-gloved hands busily sticking needles into my teeth, I thought about how much this didn't resemble sex, and how much it definitely required trust. I don't think you are ever in your life more vulnerable than when someone is grinding a power tool into your mouth, that magical cavity of speech and song and sandwich-eating that could be destroyed with just a slip of the wrist. Well, perhaps surgery compares.

But think about it. You are (one hopes) much more likely to know the person you have sex with than the person you give license to drill into your head, unless you found both in a phone book (Governor Spitzer, anyone?). You can tell the person you have sex with to stop if it hurts, and you can charge them with a crime if they don't. Not only do dentists just push right on through that pain, but nobody can accuse a dentist of assault because the drilling hurt like hell. That's expected. And unless you let your fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages, you don't have to pay for sex, but you are expected to lay out hundreds, perhaps even thousands of dollars for a few hours of the dentist's time. I'm paying a total stranger $1,875 to take a power tool to my teeth for two hours?

That's trust, baby.

Fernweh.

That's a German word I discovered recently. It has the same general sense as Wanderlust, although as I had it explained to me, it has more of a sense of "loving faraway places." I like the very sound of it; it sounds like something faraway, exotic.

I'm currently indulging in a No Reservations marathon. I love this show. It's hosted by chef Anthony Bourdain (who also hates Rachael Ray, hooray!), and he goes to some insanely interesting places. There's little gimmickry; he doesn't dive into maggot stew or pickled calves' brains at each turn, looking for the most stomach-turning dish in each country. And he's not exactly Samantha Brown: he smokes, drinks, and swears, and he doesn't pose jauntily with national landmarks. He doesn't retread the same tired tourist traps every episode: he's been to Moscow, Tashkent, Edinburgh, and yes, even New Orleans - but after Katrina. And he had some pretty harsh things to say, too. His is not a glossy show.

What he does do is engage with locals and attempt to understand their cultures, even when they don't necessarily reflect his own. I admire that. A recent episode dealt with Gaugin's French Polynesia, but rather than taking us to yet another beach with scantily-clad Americans holding neon drinks with umbrellas in them, Bourdain delved into the nightlife of Papaete with...Polynesian transsexuals. Yes, transsexuals. They're called Mahu there; men who desire to lead lives as women. It is something of a tradition there. Bourdain ate poisson cru - a raw fish dish that's "perfect hangover food" - with them and listened as they told him about their dreams; one wanted to find a husband, another wanted to be a doctor. He didn't crack jokes about their boob jobs or ridicule the one for wanting a husband; he listened as they explained what their culture was about.

This is the sort of thing I really want to do. No, will do, one day. I suffer from acute fernweh. I think we as Americans are too narrow-minded to truly appreciate what makes even our own country good, let alone anyone else's. I want to get past the Ugly American stereotype. I want to learn what makes someone on the other side of the world tick. I want to see the Cape York Peninsula before it's destroyed by tourists looking for a crocodile-populated Disneyworld. I want to learn Italian and order gelato from a shop that only the locals know about. I want to go for a hike in Crete and not worry about getting lost, because I am where I need to be. I want to live in London, because of all the places I've been, it's the one that feels most like home, even with the crazy fruit vendors and the constant if faint smell of damp paper.

I firmly believe it's important to appreciate what you have and make the best of where you are; I learned this the hard way. I've been in some amazing places and sometimes wanted only to go home again, and I regret it. And it's no good to just want another stamp in your passport, although mine's been feeling awfully neglected of late. You can travel the world and never actually see anything; I've been on trains next to people who talked about "doing" Dover, Windsor Castle, and Canterbury in one day, and I felt unspeakable pity for them, because I've spent a day in just the Tower of London and not felt like I've seen and understood it all. You have to travel with open eyes and an open mind (and, often, an open wallet, alas!), and that's what I like about Bourdain - I learn something about the countries he takes me to, even though it is only armchair travel. There is so much more in this world than my hometown, my state, my country, and I want to go, see, hear, touch, taste it all.

Well, okay, maybe not poisson cru.

My Own (Almost) 30-Minute Meal.

The fiance and I have decided that, in the interest of budgets and impending onslaught of expenses (namely, a move, grad school, a wedding, a honeymoon...all in the next year), we're giving up dining out for a while. However, since we're both budding gourmands, we don't want to abandon fine dining, so we've decided to try whipping up a fine new meal once a week. I began this tradition a few weeks ago, with a pomegranate-glazed chicken with caramelized onions and steamed broccoli with garlic, topped with a touch of goat cheese. Ohhhh, baby. It took an hour and a half, but it was superb.

This week, it was sirloin and chicken breast (red meat for him, white for me, due to my unusual beef allergy) marinated in red wine vinegar, molasses, chili flakes, garlic, and cracked peppercorns, served with caramelized onions, steamed broccoli, carrots, and mushrooms, and topped with some crumbled boucheron chèvre. We put the meat in the marinade around lunchtime and let it sit all day, which made it moist and insanely flavorful.

But here's the best part: not counting the marinating time, preparing the whole meal (including prep time!) took me just 37 minutes. That's right. I started the onions first (getting that delicious, melt-in-your-mouth golden result takes some time), put the meat on my trusty George Foreman grill, and steamed the veggies in a double-boiler. And this time included my demonstrating to the fiance how to properly wash and slice mushrooms, something he'd never done before. The pricetag came in at under $20, too. I couldn't believe it; a fine-dining meal that took less than an hour to cook and less than $20 to purchase! Take that, Rachael Ray! You don't have to make a "sammy" to have a delicious (and genuinely healthy - no buckets of "EVOO" here) dinner in around 30 minutes.

Here's hoping next week's birthday bash is just as successful!

I guarantee it.

Whatever happened to Martin Yan?

This video will explain my devotion.

I remember "Yan Can Cook" on PBS when I was growing up. It was more fun than pretty much anything else on TV, mostly because of those frenetic knife skills and his wacky humor. He always seemed like he was on the verge of exploding, but a hyper cook is a fun cook, if he knows what he's doing (hence why RR doesn't count in this category). And I liked his slogan: "If Yan can cook, so can you! I guarantee you!" His show made food accessible, especially good Asian food, and encouraged even average cooks to stretch their boundaries and try something new. It really wasn't that hard, and it didn't have to be expensive; he gua-ran-teeed it. He could tell you the difference between light and dark soy sauce, and when to use either. Plus, he usually used screaming hot oil in a very large wok. The possibility for disaster was huge, but miraculously never happened, because he clearly knew what he was doing.

He's humble about his skills, but not falsely so; the man's been named a Master Chef by the American Culinary Federation and has a master's degree in food science. The difference between Yan and, say, Ray, who also promotes the "I can cook and so can you!" attitude is simple: Yan makes food you'd want to eat, respects his ingredients, and brings with him years of experience and authenticity. And he's funny.

He hasn't been on public television in Mississippi for a while, and I miss him. Part of me would like to see the Food Network pick up his show, but I have a feeling they'd probably try and make him dye his hair platinum and come up with catchphrases like "Yum-o" or "money" while cooking duck pizzas with plum dipping sauce in under 30 minutes in a kitschy "Asianized" kitchen with a Buddha in the corner that matches the one on his apron.

Still, I have to think he'd be better than the cooktard likes of Sandra Lee and Rachael Ray. Why? Because Yan CAN Cook!

We love to fly, and it...costs.

Today I learned two dismaying tidbits about the airline industry.

The first is that Delta, my frequent-flier mileage-awarding slavemaster, has caved to peer pressure and announced that it too will be reducing the number of free checked bags per (coach) passenger to a mere one. This comes on the heels of similar announcements by Northwest, Continental, and United Airlines, all of whom appear to agree that passengers flying coach have fewer possessions than their first-class-cabinmates. First-class passengers on all four airlines may check up to three bags for free. For budget travellers like myself, who find it hard not to buy gifts for everyone we know when we're abroad, this comes as a blow; not only do we have to pay for the things we buy, we'll have to pay extra to get them home...assuming our flight isn't cancelled, that is.

My question is this: isn't this akin to giving away goodie bags worth thousands of dollars to celebrities, who could actually afford to purchase all that stuff? If you can afford to fly first class, can't you afford to pay an extra $25 to check a third bag? Why stick us poor steerage passengers with the fees?

And then there are people for whom no luxury is ever enough. For those discerning and non-monetarily-challenged travellers, Emirates Airlines presents their new fully private First Class suites. According to their very posh website,

"The new private suite is fully equipped with individual storage, a coat closet, vanity desk and personal mini bar. The extra-large seat reclines to become a fully flat bed, and the 23" wide-screen LCD screen features over 600 channels of ice entertainment.

Our award-winning, multilingual cabin crew provide an unprecedented level of personal service, including a la carte gourmet cuisine and an extensive wine list."

As if feeling like chattel wasn't easy enough when we're crammed into 28" of pitch space, we now have pictures of these homes-away-from-home to envy. These suites come complete with luxurious polished wood paneling, 600-thread-count Egyptian cotton linens on your fully reclining, twin-size bed, seven-course dining with a trained sommelier at your service, automated reclining seat - just press a button to nap! - and your own personal flight attendant. You even get doors to pull shut while you sleep, completely closing you off from the annoyances of other filthy-rich travellers. It's just like the Hogwarts Express, only without Draco Malfoy stealing your luggage. And the price for this luxury? Starting from a mere $12,626 for flights from New York-JFK to Dubai.

And I betcha they don't have to pay to check an extra bag, either.

Really, Food Network?

Those of you who know me know that I have a "thing" for the Food Network. It's often sort of akin to watching a train wreck: horrific, but impossible to look away from. It's a case of it being so bad it's almost good. So allow me to share with you the latest news in Food Network's programming lineup, straight from the horse's mouth, as it were:

"The Chef Jeff Project, an inspirational series in which drug-dealer-turned-chef Jeff Henderson works with kids who want to be cooks."

Because a former drug dealer should definitely be the one cooking our childrens' meals. Who wants to bet there are magic brownies on the menu?

In other Food Network news, Rachael Ray has decided to give us recipes for dog food. No, apparently she doesn't think the...well, let's be nice and call it "food"...she's been producing for the last five years qualifies. She means meals you can cook for the family and share with the dog. (Apparently, leftovers aren't good enough for your precious pup.) Recipes include "Power Pooch Smoothies" and "Real Dogs Eat Quiche." The latter includes half-and-half and breakfast sausage. Both recipes say they serve four. I'm guessing this is not based on Beagle owners.

And you thought your life sucked.

An acquaintance of mine recently introduced me to the world of mail-order brides, and I must say I'm appropriately terrified. On the other hand, it does make me feel one hell of a lot more normal.

So what exactly is so scary about these services? Well, have a look at Asianbridesonline.com. According to them, it's a fact that "Men seek youth and beauty. Women seek mature, older, healthy, intelligent, successful, financially stable men." This is so important that they repeat it. Four times. Word for word. Is it just me, or is there some adjectivism at work here?

Among their other helpful advice? Make copies of your letters. "By doing this, when a lady responds to you, you can simply refresh your memory as to what you initially wrote her." This will help you keep your lies about being a mature, older, healthy, intelligent, successful, financially stable man straight. It would really suck if one of those luscious ladies found out you were really a middle-aged office supplies salesman.

Then there's Anastasia Web Tours, which arranges "romance tours" (land-only, $4995 for ten days) that allow men to meet eligible "ladies" who have the qualities they're looking for in a wife. If you have a look here, you'll see exactly the kind of qualities he's looking for. He's even making the universal sign-language symbol for them.

But my favorite has to be Kiev Connections, run by an "American proprietor" who gives the following advice to prospective customers:

"We highly suggest you do not have a long correspondence! You can write ladies for ever and usually nothing will happen. You will just waste time, energy, effort, emotions and never get married. Why be alone another minute. Would it not be better to be happily married as soon as possible?"

Indeed. Why waste time trying to get to know one another and waste emotions - you know you have a finite supply - when you could race into a marriage with someone who won't understand a word you say? Do stupid things faster, for god's sake!

The best part of this website has to be the FAQ section, however. If these questions really are this frequently asked, then these morons - uh, men deserve all the mockery that can possibly be heaped upon them. For example:

"Will She run off after she comes to America? No! You are the sponsor of her visa and she must marry you and only you or return to her country before the end of 90 days."

Well, that's comforting. Because it's not scary enough that this woman's come to a strange country to see a strange person several decades older than she is. She has a full 90 days to realize the scale of her error.

"What about the age difference? Everyone knows that a beautiful 18 model is not going to love a overweight, 70 year old man with little hair for his great personality. You need to be realistic. Now, that being said, things are very different in the Ukraine than they are in the west. You will frequently see couples that are 20 years apart in age. It is natural here. Everyone is an individuals and individuals interact and react differently. There are no set rules or demarcation. You need to meet and see if there is attraction and chemistry."

This really is comforting to all those overweight, balding 70-year-olds out there; you don't need a great personality, just a shitload of cash. And apparently, Ukrainian women are a bargain. Each is "an individuals," which is essentially a buy-one-get-one-free situation. Now don't you want to come to Kiev?

But why are all these lovely 18-year-old Ukrainian women desperate to marry men 20 years their senior? The owner of Kiev Connections provides this insightful answer:

"There are decent marriage oriented men in Ukraine but there are many that are not. What is a man? A man is the breadwinner ,he earns the bacon and brings it home so the wife can fry it up in the pan. The man is the provider. Unfortunately, it is very difficult for a Ukrainian man to provide for his family. There are few well paying jobs in the Ukraine. How can the men here take pride in themselves if they can not provide for their family. The result? Ukrainian men bend to peer pressure and drink and drink."

Oh, peer pressure. And we thought you were just responsible for us wearing those puff-painted denim jackets in the '80s. Apparently you are also the reason for Ukrainian men being crappy husbands. The bright side to this is that these lovely Ukrainian ladies can come over to the US and marry American men 20 years their senior. Of course, their husbands will probably still drink and expect their wives to fry their bacon for them, but at least it won't be because of peer pressure.