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a story and conversation repository (est. 2000)
 


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  While trying to convince my mostly vegetarian boss to go to ruth chris steakhouse, a colleague suggested that we try a place called Murray's, the home of the butter knife cut steak. We did and we easily had 20 years on the next youngest person and readily stood out among all the blue hairs. And, if this setting wasn't used in every mob film ever made, I'm not sure how it was overlooked.

Surprisingly, the cheapest item on the menu was over 50 bucks so we convinced the waitress to let us split a porterhouse as to not too greatly offend our travel stipend. The only dilemma with this is John likes his meat medium well and I like mine the intended way, medium rare. We explain this additional conundrum to our grandmotherly waitress and she again hooks us up.

When she returns she is hefting a slab of beef that easily stands three inches tall. I actually gasped at the sight of this unexpected yet delightful carnage. John actually lurched in his seat in a krameresque fashion since there was more meat on that plate than he has eaten in the last calendar year.

I have always wondered how people cooked meat that was that thick. I now know. You don't. John's medium well portion met the criteria for my medium rare and my rare portion met the criteria of something that has definitely been in a kitchen but not too near a cooking device. But, given the lady's special treatment and the fact that I know all food sent back to the cook gets dropped, salivated on or defiled with some unwanton agent, I sucked it up and ate my first raw piece of red meat. Four days seems to be the requisite duration to pass a pound and a half of uncooked cow through the human digestive tract.

Note that I took the above picture in the mirror next to our table. It came out tons better than I thought it would. You can barely tell I'm holding the camera on the table since I didn't even miss a beat of the conversation. Skills.


 
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Originally Published:
October 2001
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