Tonight is Mother’s Day. I know it really fell two days ago on the calendar, and I assure you I am not making it up because I forgot it. The dining establishment where the three mothers in my daily life—the mother of my wife (her daughter), the mother of my children (my wife), and the mother (my daughter) of my granddaughter—wished to eat had no open reservations this past Sunday. So, we are going tonight.
The consensus was steak all around. You can’t go wrong with steak in my book. I love a ribeye cooked over the grill seasoned with butter, garlic, onion, brown sugar, pepper, and basil. It must be cooked over low heat for a long time, leaving only a hot pink sliver at its center. When I order a steak and the server tells me it will take longer, I know the cook will be doing it right. Too hot burns—not sears—the outside and leaves the center undercooked.
I don’t like steak tartare. But many under-experienced chefs make the mistake of trying to force the heat into it. Not only does this result in charring the exterior and leaving the center raw, it also boils out the moisture, giving you crisped shoe leather. My best advice is to be patient. Anything worth doing is worth doing right. And what’s that old saying? Good things come to those who wait. I am willing to wait on a steak for which I will undoubtedly pay too much to have it prepared in a manner where the cost becomes worth it.
As far as sides go, I know I should select asparagus or something similarly more healthy than French fries or garlic mashed potatoes, but I think I will be having mushrooms of the fried variety. The best dessert to accompany steak must be something along the lines of a blackberry cobbler or a fruit pie. Alas, most restaurants these days opt for pecan pie, cheesecake, or a brownie with ice cream and fudge. Don’t get me wrong. The latter option is perfectly fine with me, but a hot blackberry cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream just hits the spot. We’ll see what they have tonight.
