But There's Still Some Pink Inside

Growing up I was one of those kids. There was to be no pink inside my meat. The cow was to be killed twice. In the past few years I have gone from having a steak done like a hockey puck to some pink. I'm taking this in baby steps. Mr. B and I will occasionally grill out and he has been gradually cooking my steak more towards the medium than well side. He probably thinks he is being sneaky, but I am on to him.

Last night we decided to go out for dinner. We didn't feel like driving into the big city so that left a limited number of restaurants in our area. Bars so burgers and fried stuff, not feeling like consuming large quantities of grease. One Italian restaurant, we didn't have a great experience there last time so that was out. Fast food, again more fried stuff and I wanted a nice sit down dinner. Or supper clubs. 

We settled on a supper club near the acres that we haven't been to in a while. They make good pink squirrels, I heart pink squirrels. If you have never had one, your life is not complete and you really must try. The best ice cream drink evah. This place is a classic meat and potatoes restaurant with a salad bar. Salad bar meaning iceburg lettuce and about 10 different salads involving mayo.

Side note: we were the youngest people in the restaurant except a few of the severs. Everyone there was old enough to be our parents. And no we didn't go early. We got there after seven, thank you very much.

I know I am going to get steak; just not feeling frog legs, yes that is on the menu. Now what cut of beef do I want. Mr. B orders the prime rib, the Saturday night special. I have never had prime rib before. The sight of people eating a cut of beef that is still oozing red was horrifying to me. Remember hockey pucks, the cow needs to be killed twice. How can people seriously think a bleeding hunk-o-beef can be good. In a moment of braveness or stupidity, I have yet to decide, I order it too. MEDIUM. 

Just ordering that was huge. Ordering it medium really put me out of my comfort zone. No baby step there, more like a standing long jump. As the waitress was walking away I almost called her back to change my order. Oh-my-God what have I done crosses my mind. It's too late she is on her way to the kitchen. Calling her back would make a scene. What to do. Now she is in the kitchen. I am committed stuck. There is no going back now.

You could feel the tension as we waited for our food. At least in my head I could. Distract my self with the mayo bar and bread. Delicious homemade onion rye bread in case you were wondering. Chat with Mr. B about our plans for the following weekend. Here she comes, that must be ours. It's sitting in front of me. Not oozing blood but clearly very pink.
Here it was the moment of truth. First bite. Close my eyes not to see the red meat on my fork making it's way up to my mouth. The tension is almost unbearable now. Mr. B is staring at me watching me, waiting to read my face.

I was blown away. A-MA-ZING!! Melt in my mouth delicious cow, were-have-you-been-all-my-life good. I had to restrain myself from gorging on the whole thing. Cut, chew, savor, repeat. Cut, chew, savor, repeat. No picking it up with my hands and tearing into it caveman style, in a restaurant must be civilized.

Needless to say I have been converted. I no longer fear pink meat. Now off to figure out how to make those leftovers into a delicious salad or sandwich for lunch.