A few nights ago Andrea and I went out for our anniversary. I ordered a NY Strip steak. When it came out I was positive that this was a nearly perfect steak. It was sizzling, with a deep amber crust. Inside, the steak was cooked to a perfect medium-rare temperature, with the interior melting. After eating a few bites I came to a strange conclusion.
I am not really a steak guy.
I mean, this steak was not the problem. It was very good. And it wasn’t a money thing. We used a gift card. Instead, what I realized is that I had always assumed that I was a steak guy who just hadn’t yet had the right cut or preparation. I assumed I was just eating the cheap stuff, waiting to feast on the real deal. Aside from bad beef experiences, my best steak experience was at a Florida restaurant that served the meat underneath a southwestern cream sauce with spicy shrimp. It was delicious. It is also inconclusive whether or not a steak really held up the cream, chiles, and shrimp.
I feel like I should like steak. Andrea loves the stuff. But whenever she and I eat a sausage meal I find that she gravitates to the side dishes while I finish up her portion of pork. Last Thursday I finally put it all together.
Maybe God has led me to Memphis because he knew I wasn’t ready for Texas. He knew that I wasn’t yet ready for cattle, longhorns, 72 ounce steaks, or six-figure ministry salaries. He knew that people who eat steak never know how good they have it, while those who dine on swine are always warned against living too high on the hog.
Now I know now that steak is not my favorite. Oh sure, I really liked it. But the price tag is rather hefty to simply like it. You must love it. And I must admit that my true love is those Italian sausage sandwiches they serve in a pull-behind at a flea market. I love the Slovenian sausages that ooze grease on top of pierogies and the “everything but the oink” sausages that we call hot dogs. My love is for the chopped pork that Tennesseans call barbecue. My love is the Andouille that Cajuns eat for dinner and the bangers that Brits eat for breakfast.
You can’t steer me away from my true love. I would rather be kissing the pig.
3 Comments
May 28, 2008 at 3:31 am
This was one of your better entries in some time. Very existential & engaging.
That said, if I had to choose between beef & pork, I don’t know if I could do it. Steak or kielbasa… steak or kielbasa… ???
May 28, 2008 at 11:30 am
EPIC FAIL
Beef. It IS what’s for dinner.
That said: Gnothi Seauton
May 23, 2009 at 3:11 pm
[...] Continuing with the meal, we ate homemade pasta en route to the main course, where Andrea stayed inland with beef while I lounged on the coast with the sardines, a house speciality. No complaints on either. After sampling her steak, I had second thoughts about last year’s anniversary admittance about not loving beef. [...]