Warm, red center?†“Can you cut into your steak to see if it’s cooked as you ordered it?â€
Actually, NO, I can’t. I’m not going to cut into my steak while you watch me. I’m fucking 50 [and yes, I’m using the “F†word from now on because I’m going for gold and I desperately need more page views], and I can’t believe some kid who calls me “dude†or “boss†is asking me if I really know what medium-rare is! Like somebody changed the rules on medium-rare over the past 35 years. Get the hell away from me... cutting into my meat is a private moment. And can these middle-of-the-road chain franchises stop asking me “Have you been to a Longhorn before?†For heavens sakes, it’s not friggin’ DisneyWorld! I mean, I don’t see a mechanical bull or an all-you-can eat-salad-bar. The best feature of some of these steakhouses is the new X-CELERATOR air-dryers in the restrooms...those babies literally give you a permanent re-positioning of every vein in your hands.
“Well, as a matter of fact, sir, yes, I HAVE previously patroned a Longhorn during my distinguished steakhouse career, and please do not speak when I say medium-rare!!!†And don’t ask me if I want any “apps†or if I want my potato “loaded.†Just LISTEN, and I’ll tell you what I want. For godsakes, I just got out of Starbucks and had to deal with “what can I get started for ya?†and “would you like to try our new mocha drizzle frappucino latte?†Just take my order... competently and quietly... and STOP SMILING. This isn’t a friggin’ mixer at Delta Omega Chi. Dear Lord, if I can just get through the smiley, pull-the drawstring-on-the-back “Did you save some room for dessert!?!â€
So, I got as far away as possible from any world woes on a Wednesday night in northern new england at an Outback Steakhouse (and yes, I’ve been there before). Table for one, please, and yes, the lounge area is fine. FYI (don’t tell Crocodile Dundee)... I didn’t see the bloomin’ onion on the menu. Good riddance! That thing looked like something you’d buy in the gift shop at a planetarium.
Fast forward past ordering interaction and obligatory medium-rare dance...
I was staring at my mini-bread loaf, samurai-sworded right down the center with a steak knife sticking in it. Thinking about looking over a report I brought in and fiddlin’ with my blackberry. And I overheard some guys at the bar talking about their fantasy football selections — four guys, four good guys... two well over 50, one 45ish, and a young buck in his 30s. Not obnoxious or loud. Just doing their thing pouring over a fantasy league magazine and debating their picks. They didn’t seem to be worrying about any world woes either.
No doubt you can guess what happens next. Four good guys talking sports? They eventually digressed into some good-old fashioned sports trivia of course. The guys were trying to name New England Patriots players from the ‘96 Super Bowl team that lost to the Packers. They rattled off Drew Bledsoe, Terry Glenn, Dave Meggett, Keith Byars, but they were struggling. I haven’t talked to male strangers in a bar since the 80s, but I couldn’t resist the brotherhood sports camaradarie, and out of the blue I felt seized by impulsivity and blurted out “Irving Fryar!†And they said “Oh yeah, Irving Fryar.†And I showed off a little more...â€â€™83 Nebraska... Fryar, Turner Gill, and Mike Rozier... lost greatest college football game ever to Miami in the Orange Bowl, 35-34.†With my credentials acknowledged and a little college-style brotherhood rekindled, “check please,†and I was out the door. Turns out Fryar played with the Patriots in the ’86 Super Bowl and not in ‘96, but who’s quibbling?
Nothing restores a sense of equilibrium like wafting back into some nostalgic sports life landmarks... with some good guys. Even when you’re wrong!
By the way, I had a 10 oz charbroiled ribeye [overcooked medium +], with a side of broiled scallops, baked potato (butter only), and a caesar. Chased with a Columbia Crest Chardonnnay and a Jacobs Creek Shiraz Reserve.