My grandfather was something of a daredevil, no more so than in the matter of food. He frequently said he’d eat anything—once—and then went on to describe his most “adventurous” meals. We kids got so tired of hearing him boast that one day my sister summoned up the courage to challenge him to down a mouthful of dog food. (He was opening a large tin of Alpo at the time.) And Gramps was as good as his word. Without hesitation, he pried up the can’s lid, ladled out a generous spoonful of the foul-smelling glop and popped it directly into his mouth. I suppose you could call it Alpo tartare. “That’s the best horseflesh I’ve ever eaten!” he crowed, after swallowing his doggy appetizer. My sister was crestfallen. I couldn’t help noticing that Gramps didn’t go back for seconds, however.

I suppose something of Gramps’ adventurous spirit survives in me. Earlier this summer, I spied a package of Lightlife Tofu Pups for sale at the local food co-op. As luck would have it, I was gripped by a craving for hot dogs that day, but I was put off by the plentiful helpings of saturated fat contained in those innocent-looking little tubes stuffed with spicy ground beef. Now the Pups promised a way out of my dilemma. I’ve often built camping meals around tofu, so Lightlife’s Pups seemed like an attractive alternative to the real thing. I didn’t waste time debating with myself. I tossed a pack into my shopping basket and took it home.

I takes me nearly an hour to pedal my loaded bike up into the hills, but I put the time to good use, planning my hot dog dinner. And—an added touch—since I had some beef hot dogs in the freezer, I figured I’d make the most of this chance to stage a dog fight, pitting the Pups against the Real Deal.

It didn’t involve a lot of extra work. The Lightlife package instructed me to simmer Tofu Pups in boiling water, and cautioned against grilling them. That’s certainly easy enough. But it wasn’t exactly love at first sight. Or should it be first smell? The Pups don’t exactly have a mouth-watering savor. In fact, they smell a bit like new bike tires. And they aren’t much to look at either. Stripped of their colorful wrappings, the naked Pups have a sort of pallid, fake-tan-orange skin. Anyway, here’s a Pup about to take a dive, with a beef hot dog already simmering in the skillet:

Tofu Pups are also lack—how can I put this?—structural rigidity. Perhaps they’d benefit from one of the products so dear to Internet spammers. Something to stiffen up the sinews, so to speak. Or maybe not. In any event, they’re slippery characters, quick to escape from all but the most determined grasp. Instruction to cooks: First, catch your Pup.

Well, at least dinner came together quickly. Now it was time for the face-off. It wasn’t much of a contest. The tofu contender was as salty as the beef frank, but that was the only point of resemblance. The Pup still smelled like a new tire, an odor that not even spicy brown mustard could disguise. The taste? It was no better, I’m sorry to say. And the texture! The less said about that…

OK. It wasn’t much of a match. The Pup coulda been a contender. But it wasn’t. No way. Maybe in a few years, after he’s had time to grow a little. For now, though, it’s all-beef franks or nothing.

 
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