Jumping to Conclusions

There was no garbage pickup service in Beavercreek, Oregon. Residents of the rural community had to regularly haul their accumulated trash to the landfill in nearby Oregon City.

One Saturday a friend stopped at the only convenience store in Beavercreek to gas up his car. While he was waiting, a woman driving a pick-up truck pulled in at the opposite pump. Her truck was loaded with a huge pile of "stuff." Assuming she was hauling it to the landfill, my friend said, "I'll bet you'll be glad to get rid of all that junk!"

She gave him an icy look and said, "We're moving."    

Things are not always what they seem. If you don't believe me, keep reading.

Years ago an orthodox Jew from Ohio was vacationing in Israel. On his list of "must see" places to visit was a hotel restaurant in Jerusalem that was famous for it's extensive buffet. As he entered the restaurant, he saw that there were two separate buffet lines. Noting that he was a bit uncertain about which line to choose, the hostess said, "Milk or meat?" This was because of Jewish prohibition stated in the Torah that milk products cannot come in contact with those containing meat. Hence the two buffet lines. [One source I found indicated that even dirty dishes from the two cannot be washed in the same dishwasher load.] 

Choosing the "milk" line the tourist began to fill his plate, but suddenly he became upset and asked to speak with the manager. 

His complaint?

The steam rising from the Swedish meatballs in the meat line was drifting over the blintzes in the milk line.

                                                          

He demanded that management create a much greater distance between the two. Much controversy ensued, and somehow the issue was taken before a panel of very revered rabbis. The question before them was this: "Is steam considered to be food?" 

Lengthy discussions took place, and, at long last, the rabbis announced this strange ruling: "If a dog will eat it, it's food." To test this new rule, a canopy was constructed over the buffet table. It had a tapered, tent-like roof. Hot, steaming Swedish meatballs were placed directly under it. A small opening was made in the canopy's pointed peak into which a length of flexible tubing was connected. The other end of the tubing was placed at ground level, with the opening resting in a chafing dish. The idea was that as the steam wafted to the top of the canopy, it would enter the tubing. Then, as it cooled, tiny droplets of moisture would condense inside the tube and drip down into the chafing dish. And it worked.

The next step was to introduce a dog into the restaurant. Once he was inside, the doors were closed, and he was left to roam at will. For several minutes he explored the room, sniffing and searching for anything of interest. And then it happened. He found the chafing dish which by now contained a small pool of condensed steam. 

Everyone's attention was riveted on the dog. He dipped his nose down into the dish, sniffed it carefully, then walked away without drinking. Because the dog didn't drink the water, the rabbis ruled that steam is not food. The restaurant manager was elated because he didn't have to make any changes in the layout of the buffet.

I heard this story from a news reporter. He heard it from the restaurant's head chef -- who admitted to wiping down the chafing dish with Pine-Sol before the test began.

Like I said before, things are not always what they seem.