Some moments are life-changing.
In an epiphany-filled experience similar to the time I discovered my favorite color was actually red, not purple (my life is peppered with amazing spontaneous adventures of just this sort), I recently treated myself to a meal out and my life was altered because of it.
I almost always avoid steaks. Although beef is interesting and tastes good enough to me, I've always preferred chicken or turkey. I have never understood the big deal about steaks. People were willing to pay amazing amounts for something that just tasted like regular beef to me. Fine enough, but nothing spectacular.
But sometimes I choose the steak at a restaurant, maybe once or twice a year. It's like wearing a different colored shirt, just for variety. It's not your favorite but it looks ok and everything else is in the laundry basket. This was one of those variety days.
So I ordered the steak and while doing so made an error. The waitress asked me how I wanted it cooked, and I opened my mouth to say "medium well" but what came out was "medium rare."
I don't like rare meat. At least, I was fairly sure I didn't. It had been years since I'd eaten steak rare or medium rare. But by the time I had caught the mistake in the typewriter telecast of my mind, the waitress was already gone. Since I am very much someone who goes with the flow of things, preferred or not, I mentally shrugged and went with it. I could always send it back to be cooked more if I didn't like it.
When it arrived, all covered in portabella mushrooms and a nice mushroom sauce, it looked fine at first. (The portabellas were the chief reason I made that menu choice; it's hard for me to resist them even when they're on steak.) Then I cut into it and it was pink. Very pink. I stared at the pinkness in alarm as I tried to tell myself that this was what I'd gotten myself into, and what did you think medium rare looked like? I clucked my metaphorical tongue at myself and told myself to eat it, that I'd made my bed and now I had to swallow and digest it.
So with not a small amount of misery I selected a piece of steak and tentatively placed it in my mouth and started to chew, trying not to wince as that would be unseemly. But as I chewed, it was like a switch went on and all my senses heightened. Could you taste that flavor in the steak? It was delicious. I cut another piece and it was just the same, all flavorful and robust and quite the best steak I had ever eaten, which is a very pathetic thing as this was at an Applebee's.
I was very eager to cut up the rest and enjoyed the entire meal very well, except the broccoli of which I ate none (I don't like broccoli). It turns out that this entire time I've thought that steak was only so-so because I've been ordering it overcooked and that sapped most of the flavor out of it. It opens me to a whole new experience in food which I'd previously overlooked. I still liked the parts on the outside which were cooked to medium but even better was the inside, tender and full of savory experiences. I don't know why I've been convinced for years that I prefer medium well. It's a mystery to me.
I almost always avoid steaks. Although beef is interesting and tastes good enough to me, I've always preferred chicken or turkey. I have never understood the big deal about steaks. People were willing to pay amazing amounts for something that just tasted like regular beef to me. Fine enough, but nothing spectacular.
But sometimes I choose the steak at a restaurant, maybe once or twice a year. It's like wearing a different colored shirt, just for variety. It's not your favorite but it looks ok and everything else is in the laundry basket. This was one of those variety days.
So I ordered the steak and while doing so made an error. The waitress asked me how I wanted it cooked, and I opened my mouth to say "medium well" but what came out was "medium rare."
I don't like rare meat. At least, I was fairly sure I didn't. It had been years since I'd eaten steak rare or medium rare. But by the time I had caught the mistake in the typewriter telecast of my mind, the waitress was already gone. Since I am very much someone who goes with the flow of things, preferred or not, I mentally shrugged and went with it. I could always send it back to be cooked more if I didn't like it.
When it arrived, all covered in portabella mushrooms and a nice mushroom sauce, it looked fine at first. (The portabellas were the chief reason I made that menu choice; it's hard for me to resist them even when they're on steak.) Then I cut into it and it was pink. Very pink. I stared at the pinkness in alarm as I tried to tell myself that this was what I'd gotten myself into, and what did you think medium rare looked like? I clucked my metaphorical tongue at myself and told myself to eat it, that I'd made my bed and now I had to swallow and digest it.
So with not a small amount of misery I selected a piece of steak and tentatively placed it in my mouth and started to chew, trying not to wince as that would be unseemly. But as I chewed, it was like a switch went on and all my senses heightened. Could you taste that flavor in the steak? It was delicious. I cut another piece and it was just the same, all flavorful and robust and quite the best steak I had ever eaten, which is a very pathetic thing as this was at an Applebee's.
I was very eager to cut up the rest and enjoyed the entire meal very well, except the broccoli of which I ate none (I don't like broccoli). It turns out that this entire time I've thought that steak was only so-so because I've been ordering it overcooked and that sapped most of the flavor out of it. It opens me to a whole new experience in food which I'd previously overlooked. I still liked the parts on the outside which were cooked to medium but even better was the inside, tender and full of savory experiences. I don't know why I've been convinced for years that I prefer medium well. It's a mystery to me.