Well Done

“I don’t like steak!”

Hang on a second.  That came out a little abrupt and apparently needs context.

I was a junior in high school and my girlfriend asked me over for dinner.  I inquired about the fare and she replied that her dad was grilling steak.

"I don’t like steak.”

My comment was followed by the retort, “Well, you’ve never had my dad’s steak.”

She was right, of course.  I knew her mother worked at the Jewel meat counter, but this was probably the first time I’d been invited over for dinner.

A couple of hours later, I was sitting at the table when her dad placed an inch and a half thick slab of meat in front of me.  I looked at my girlfriend and asked, “What’s this?”

“That’s steak!” she answered. 

Apparently, my context needs context.

My mom made steak rather regularly, but it didn’t look like this.  You see, our steak came on a shrink-wrapped Styrofoam tray.  It was about a half an inch thick and probably didn’t reshape the plastic that was stretched taut across the shallow plate.  Mom would transfer it from the packaging onto a pan, then it went straight into the broiler.  I’m not even sure if she stopped to season it.

Some 20 to 30 minutes later, the steak would be done it was time to eat.  Eating my mother’s leather required a sharp knife, A-1 sauce, and lots of chewing!

That high school family dinner-date opened my eyes to a whole new world.  There was this thing called steak that was easy to chew and rather delicious!

The best steak I’ve had since then was on another date, this time with my wife.  We were in New York for a couple days and I decided to call around to find a nice dinner reservation.  I obviously started at the top of the “Best restaurants in New York” list.  The #1 restaurant told me their next available reservation was in three months.  But it only took 2 or 3 more calls before I found a 9:30 PM on a Thursday reservation for two.  After promising them $450.00, I took the reservation.

The meal was spectacular and I may blog about that another time.  But right now, only steak matters.  It was Kobe steak, or some other trademarked slab of beef.  Shaped like a 2 1/2" circle and standing 2” high, it was unlike anything I had ever seen.  From the top, the outer edge was dark gray, while the rest was a warm pink.  It was like they had rolled it once across a 500° grill, then dropped it on a plate.

I cut into it, first tasting the outer edge.  It was exactly like my mother’s steak!  But beyond that outer edge, was a soft, delicious meat that absolutely melted in your mouth.  Even thinking about A1 sauce while eating it would have brought the chef and his largest knife out of the kitchen in a fit of rage.  No such thought crossed my mind.

I’ve come a long way, as far as steak is concerned.  Every time I order or grill, I find slightly less done is always better.  From the extremely well done my mother made, to the medium well I ordered through my twenties, I now prefer a thick cut grilled to medium.  Recently, I’ve been toying with the idea of trying medium rare.

But even with all that experience behind me, I still don’t like steak.

I love steak!