How To Pacify Your Man: New York Strip Steak!
Nothing is quite so fine on a brisk Autumn’s eve, than the primal sizzle of two, portly New York Strip steaks over a beautiful bed of coals. By golly it sets a man straight it does, this the protein-rich pacifier that is called steak. We love it. In point of fact, if you ever want to shut a man up, slap a steak in front of him, and watch how he instantly transforms, suckling up to the beast in kind affection, whilst the rest of his worldly cares are at once erased. Oh it’s true. Reminiscent of those Hollywood scenarios, where felons or good guys alike are on the run, chased by ravaging canines, darting through city streets and over back yard fences. Then they stop, hark, they have a raw steak in their knapsack don’t you know, of which they promptly toss in the path of their fanged pursuer. And in a flip of a heart beat, the drooling beast has a moral dilemma on his hands, of which and of course, he promptly caves to.
Over direct heat, I flipped the two strip steaks, both lightly seasoned in garlic and onion salt. Gray clouds rolled nonchalantly overhead whilst the tweety birds swooped in and out of the thickets. Now the New York Strip is the same cut as the Kansas City Strip. I know, you weren’t wondering that, but it is. But to you folks over seas, you’ll probably recognize the cut as a club steak. And if you’re really off the bell curve, like in Australia, you’ll just call it a boneless sirloin and be done with it altogether. Who ever is in charge of meat nomenclature has way too much authority, and fun. Regardless of what you call it tho, it is harvested from the short loin, which is a pleasantly abiding muscle of real estate, not only for the cow, but our supper plates as well. The short loin is kind of a lazy muscle, you see, and doesn’t do much work, and there fore is particularly tender. A fact which also makes it particularly suited for it’s inevitable destiny with our pits. Lazy meat is good for something after all.
After a fashion, I tossed some hickory wood on the coals for to infuse some of that smokey goodness into the steaks, and tucked them in-direct for a little bit, just because. Then placed the lid on and let it do its thing whilst I did mine. I never grow weary of this portion of a cook out. That hallowed parcel of time in which it is acceptable, nay, proper even, to take up residence in my favorite man chair, and while away a few minutes doing nothing at all. Kind of like a short loin, go figure. Often times my bride will slide open the patio door and see me sitting there , shrouded in clouds of smoke, contemplating the curvature of my belly. Tho she does not completely understand it, she knows I am in my own space, and politely sidles off, closing the door behind her.
Whence our steaks were of acceptable firmness to the tong, I plated-up and sided the beautiful cuts with some garlic mashed potatoes and a lovely vegetable melody for to please the little lady.
“Lets eat this like a man tonight” I bellowed.
“Hows that?” she countered “Sans utensils?”
“Well no, on the couch of course“, I yammered”In front of the TV!”
We promptly inhaled our plunder like an alligator to a bull frog dipped in gravy. Or something like that. Or at least one of us did. And whilst the pretty pictures flashed on the TV, and the steaks settled into our guts, I found great contentment indeed, and heavy eye lids, in the primal glow of post-gorging. My bride glanced my way and it seems I was chin-down, contemplating my belly again. She sweetly removed a plop of mash potatoes off my chest, trying not to squelch my steak-induce mojo. She knew, as surely as she knew anything, that her man was pacified. That he was content indeed. And that a big steak, perfectly grilled, may have played a part in it. Amen.
New York Strip Steak hot off the grill. Oh buddy! Next time you need to pacify your man, considerable the venerable strip steak. It works. Side effects may include protracted belly contemplation.