so I'm standing in the meat aisle at the reduced-for-quick sale section, examining each steak, searching for any visible traces of spoilage (e.g. magenta). the fucked up gangrene meats are culled from the original pile until only a few steaks remain. these proud steaks are what I call: the prime cuts.
but there can only be one, master steak. only one steak worthy of becoming my dinner. math is used to make the final decision. my focus is on value, not lowest cost.
this is the meat equation: 1 - (reduced price / normal price) = X
if X > .5
then meat is purchased
In the end, a porterhouse steak wins the meat tournament. I like to think of the Reduced-for-quick sale section as the grocery store equivalent of the Humane Society. Therefore, I saved this steak's life. My compassion will be rewarded someday.
At a stop light on the drive home, I close my eyes and fantasize about the steak. The sweet aroma as it's being cooked, the succulent flavor of every crew. Bliss. Soon as I get back to my place, I rip the plastic from the meat like a young child would tear open a christmas present. Unnecessarily, I slap the slab of steak onto the frying pan. It makes me feel macho.
When it's finished cooking, I figure that maybe I'll test out the new BBQ sauce.
The "Aussie Outback" style BBQ sauce is from Sam's Club. The jug of BBQ sauce comes equipped with a handle (for heavy lifting), a twist off cap and a wide-mouth opening. The wide-mouth opening would be convenient for a restaurant owner. For the casual using customer--it is not.
In my haste to hurry up and grind, I accidentally tip the BBQ sauce too much. Half the fucking bottle is dumped onto the plate. My poor steak was submerged. The taste wasn't exactly like I fantasized.
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