I rolled out of bed this morning and landed with a thud. Rolled is an apt word, because after the copious amounts of beef, veg and chocolate I consumed last night, my trunkal area has morphed into a $200 barrel of oil. As I opened my eyes the scent of the fantastic marinade my comrade made lingered still in these hairy nostrils of mine.
I'd eaten my fill, and I knew it. Total Serum Triglycerides - 250 and rising.
You see, its Eid. The Big One. The Greater Feast. And a few of my friends and I decided to make our celebration meal a Great Feast. I came a bit late to the shindig, and brought my own beef purchased from my excellent Butcher "Samara" on Hassanein Haikel Road in Nasr City. Seriously, as an aside, having a good relationship (or any at all) with your butcher is key.
I got a rib eye steak and a Sirloin Steak; each weighing about 350 grams. I marinated the sirloin for 40 minutes; the Rib Eye was heavily seasoned with salt and pepper and painted with olive oil and rosemary. A good barbecue does not rest on the seared flesh alone - we had sides galore: caramelized onions, beef and onion gravy, nutmeg and cheese pureed potatoes, and rosemary roasted potatoes.
There was a lot to go around, and we finished it all.
The thought to take pictures occurred after the fact, so I can only show you shaky cell phone pictures of the empty plates and pans. We did, however, have the presence of mind to photograph the dessert - a great construct of Brownie, Vanilla and Caramel ice cream, topped with fresh spearmint, grated mint chocolate and a chocolate fudge sauce. We also added a Roasted Marshmallow Kebab to round out the decadence.
Props to the hosts for the good music, good cheer and good spirits! It was Good. We ate much food. Happy Eid, Lads.
Cooking Time: 17 minutes.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Cairo’s Best Burger: The Method behind the Madness.
I’ve turned into a culinary Kane. I walk the earth alone and sample the fare on offer by the countless vendors in our fair city. This self imposed quest was to find a hamburger worthy of being called Cairo’s Best.
But first, a little background on why.
About a year ago, an unfortunate journalist walked into Lucille’s one afternoon for the first time. Nostalgic and homesick, he was enthralled by the thinly veiled greasy spoon diner that is Lucille’s. He ordered a Hamburger, and it may have been good. However, a hungry and homesick judge is a judge easily bribed and swayed; and this man was no different. Desperate for some work, he mined his mind for a sensational claim that would turn a run-of-the-mill afternoon lunch into a Time-worthy article – The World’s Best Hamburger is in Cairo.
His plan worked, and unfortunately gave credibility to the argument that some poor misguided souls have been making that Lucille’s burgers are actually good. I refer you back to my original rant for some more vitriol.
But first, a little background on why.
About a year ago, an unfortunate journalist walked into Lucille’s one afternoon for the first time. Nostalgic and homesick, he was enthralled by the thinly veiled greasy spoon diner that is Lucille’s. He ordered a Hamburger, and it may have been good. However, a hungry and homesick judge is a judge easily bribed and swayed; and this man was no different. Desperate for some work, he mined his mind for a sensational claim that would turn a run-of-the-mill afternoon lunch into a Time-worthy article – The World’s Best Hamburger is in Cairo.
His plan worked, and unfortunately gave credibility to the argument that some poor misguided souls have been making that Lucille’s burgers are actually good. I refer you back to my original rant for some more vitriol.
Then, a jumpy young man over at Daily News Egypt started looking for the best burger in Cairo, and although he painted his search as "comprehesive" I have my doubts.Judging only by the location of restaurants that made it into his article, he seems to have put himself on a taxi budget of no more than 10 pounds; limiting his search to the expat-rich neighborhoods of Zamalek and Maadi. So although it was a nice try - it feels undercooked.
Now onto the task at hand:
When trying to determine the best of anything, a strict set of criteria needs to be followed. I decided that only plain hamburgers/cheeseburgers will be considered – no mushroom burgers, no bacon barbecue burgers need apply. I am not going to speak to the quality of the restaurant itself: I am focusing solely on the Hamburger, and its quality.
I also limited the candidates based on their popularity among Cairenes as a whole. This means that one-off restaurants like Crave or Spectra are not considered for this list, although they may be considered later on in a follow up article. The exceptions to this rule are Hotel restaurants. Special emphasis is placed on establishments that claim to have “the world’s best burger” or other iteration claiming their global uniqueness.
If you, my phantom reader, have a recommendation drop me a line. Give me a good reason why it should be added to my list, and why I should even be listening to you.
Otherwise, go boil an egg.
Preparation Time: 25 minutes
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
So...
Yeah.
It's been way too long. I've left you cold and without mental sustenence for a few months now. Not that I haven;t been sampling the fare cairo has to offer - I just haven't written it up yet.
Look forward to reviews/rants on:
Romano's Macaroni Grill
Justine's
Ruby Tuesday
Johnny Rocket
Crocodile Grill
The Best Hamburger in Cairo
The Best Koshary in Cairo
All this and more - if you're lucky before the end of this year!
Till then, stay sweet, stay safe and keep on dancing!
Cooking Time.....2 Minutes
It's been way too long. I've left you cold and without mental sustenence for a few months now. Not that I haven;t been sampling the fare cairo has to offer - I just haven't written it up yet.
Look forward to reviews/rants on:
Romano's Macaroni Grill
Justine's
Ruby Tuesday
Johnny Rocket
Crocodile Grill
The Best Hamburger in Cairo
The Best Koshary in Cairo
All this and more - if you're lucky before the end of this year!
Till then, stay sweet, stay safe and keep on dancing!
Cooking Time.....2 Minutes
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Eatalian, Phase 2 City Stars.
Let me get this out of the way first: Eatalian is not cheap. According to my math you’ll end up spending an extra 10% premium for an experience which, at first glance, is comparable to eating cold hors d'eurves at a freezing and ghastly green storage facility.
That having been said, once you actually get past the unsightly green décor, uncomfortable tables and chairs and unfortunate location in the middle of City Stars’ “family food court” in phase 2, you come to the realization that Eatalian, in fact, is good.
Quite Good. Memorable, even…
I’ve had their wild mushroom risotto, which is a classic recipe. Comparing this risotto to the only other wild mushroom risotto I’ve ate in Cairo – that of Le Gourmandise at the First Mall – I can proclaim Eatalian as the winner by knockout in the first round. This Risotto is creamy, al dente and literally explodes with flavor, especially if you’re fortunate enough to get a piece of fresh mushroom cap on your spoonful. I say fortunate, because I was in the company of two skeptics; and we all decided to share off the menu in the communal spirit of the Italians. The mushroom caps were so good that my good friends turned into growling rottweilers, baring their pearly whites, whenever I pointed my spoon in the general direction of those wonderful caps.
We moved on to the Bresaola antipasti, Milanese Caprese Salad and a Grilled Tenderloin Crostini. I will not wax on poetic about how good they were, but apparently my moans of ecstasy bothered the veiled and bearded couple sitting to my rear, and they promptly got up and left before waiting for their menus. Perhaps it was for the best; one bite of the Bresaola would have turned the Mr. Beard into a wild love-making machine, while the Mrs. Veil would have kicked up her burkha and performed a striptease on the wooden tables.
Served on wooden chopping boards, I felt that this was real Man’s Food; consumed to provide fuel for the torrid love that Italians are purported to make. There was nothing complicated about the presentation – it was simple, beautiful and made me want to lick it all over.
Eatalian and its far-eastern cousin Wagamama are both owned and managed by the same company that operates Casper and Gambini. The good news is that this means the tradition of fresh ingredients and perfect cooking techniques are handed down to the younger franchises. The bad news is that Eatalian’s weakness seems to have also been inherited from its bigger brothers – the Desserts.
Italian Soda, Ricotta Cheesecake – two opportunities for greatness, two immense failures. The manager of Eatalian, a tall, svelte Lebanese gentleman named Paul (whose named when Egyptified sounds woefully like the Arabic word for urine) endeavored to explain to me that the cheesecake was not bad – my sense of taste was wrong. Intrigued by this technique, I indulged him as he proclaimed to have been trained in Michelin starred restaurants in Paris, and holds a degree in food history (or at least took a course in it). Now if he were, in fact, trained at Michelin starred restaurants, he should know that the customer’s comfort is of the utmost importance. When faced with the irrefutable fact that a raspberry coulis should be sans seeds, he declared that Italians are rustic, and as a rustic Italian restaurant, Eatalian does not strain the seeds out of its raspberry sauce. The sauce tasted fantastic, but the seeds really got in the way.
I think I may have missed something: Since when did Feng Shue-ing a pizza become “rustic”? There is nothing rustic about Eatalian, and the sooner the management realizes this, the better. They will lose the incongruous décor; which looks like it was stolen from a color blind carpenter’s loft in Manhattan. Green makes me want to grab a shovel and start planting shit – not grab a fork and begin eating.
It is worthy to note that this is the world’s first branch of Eatalian; with more coming in Dubai, Beirut and Saudi Arabia. It occupies the same niche as Casper and Gambini, Waterlemon (not yet in Egypt, thank god) and now, Ruby Tuesday’s – all vying for the Yappie crowd (Young Arab Professionals).
Does it stand a chance? Perhaps.
Does it stand apart? Not for long.
Cooking time: 25 Minutes
That having been said, once you actually get past the unsightly green décor, uncomfortable tables and chairs and unfortunate location in the middle of City Stars’ “family food court” in phase 2, you come to the realization that Eatalian, in fact, is good.
Quite Good. Memorable, even…
I’ve had their wild mushroom risotto, which is a classic recipe. Comparing this risotto to the only other wild mushroom risotto I’ve ate in Cairo – that of Le Gourmandise at the First Mall – I can proclaim Eatalian as the winner by knockout in the first round. This Risotto is creamy, al dente and literally explodes with flavor, especially if you’re fortunate enough to get a piece of fresh mushroom cap on your spoonful. I say fortunate, because I was in the company of two skeptics; and we all decided to share off the menu in the communal spirit of the Italians. The mushroom caps were so good that my good friends turned into growling rottweilers, baring their pearly whites, whenever I pointed my spoon in the general direction of those wonderful caps.
We moved on to the Bresaola antipasti, Milanese Caprese Salad and a Grilled Tenderloin Crostini. I will not wax on poetic about how good they were, but apparently my moans of ecstasy bothered the veiled and bearded couple sitting to my rear, and they promptly got up and left before waiting for their menus. Perhaps it was for the best; one bite of the Bresaola would have turned the Mr. Beard into a wild love-making machine, while the Mrs. Veil would have kicked up her burkha and performed a striptease on the wooden tables.
Served on wooden chopping boards, I felt that this was real Man’s Food; consumed to provide fuel for the torrid love that Italians are purported to make. There was nothing complicated about the presentation – it was simple, beautiful and made me want to lick it all over.
Eatalian and its far-eastern cousin Wagamama are both owned and managed by the same company that operates Casper and Gambini. The good news is that this means the tradition of fresh ingredients and perfect cooking techniques are handed down to the younger franchises. The bad news is that Eatalian’s weakness seems to have also been inherited from its bigger brothers – the Desserts.
Italian Soda, Ricotta Cheesecake – two opportunities for greatness, two immense failures. The manager of Eatalian, a tall, svelte Lebanese gentleman named Paul (whose named when Egyptified sounds woefully like the Arabic word for urine) endeavored to explain to me that the cheesecake was not bad – my sense of taste was wrong. Intrigued by this technique, I indulged him as he proclaimed to have been trained in Michelin starred restaurants in Paris, and holds a degree in food history (or at least took a course in it). Now if he were, in fact, trained at Michelin starred restaurants, he should know that the customer’s comfort is of the utmost importance. When faced with the irrefutable fact that a raspberry coulis should be sans seeds, he declared that Italians are rustic, and as a rustic Italian restaurant, Eatalian does not strain the seeds out of its raspberry sauce. The sauce tasted fantastic, but the seeds really got in the way.
I think I may have missed something: Since when did Feng Shue-ing a pizza become “rustic”? There is nothing rustic about Eatalian, and the sooner the management realizes this, the better. They will lose the incongruous décor; which looks like it was stolen from a color blind carpenter’s loft in Manhattan. Green makes me want to grab a shovel and start planting shit – not grab a fork and begin eating.
It is worthy to note that this is the world’s first branch of Eatalian; with more coming in Dubai, Beirut and Saudi Arabia. It occupies the same niche as Casper and Gambini, Waterlemon (not yet in Egypt, thank god) and now, Ruby Tuesday’s – all vying for the Yappie crowd (Young Arab Professionals).
Does it stand a chance? Perhaps.
Does it stand apart? Not for long.
Cooking time: 25 Minutes
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Koshary Quandary, Revisited
I mentioned very early on that finding the greatest plate of koshary out there was one of my purposes in writing this blog. To chronicle the Hunt. To search High and Low for that perfect plate of pure Egyptian goodness. And after I’ve found it, devise a way to bring it into the 21st century.
To understand Koshary is to understand the Egyptian psyche. We need a feast for the eyes, and also a feast for the stomach. This is evident when we sit down at a family dinner: the table is covered end to end in different varieties of food - mountains of rice, Penne and béchamel casserole, Molokheyya soup, plates of chicken and beef and okra stew in a bright red tomato sauce - all vying for valuable real estate in our stomachs, hearts and memories.
Koshary is like a huge dinner table, except its all in one plate. We’ve got the pasta. We’ve got the Rice. We’ve got the bright red tomato sauce. Koshary is a poor man’s dish, so there is no meat or vegetables, but to make things interesting, we’ve added lentils and chickpeas, and topped it with inexpensive fried onions, and drizzled a garlic vinaigrette on top for that extra “kick”
Meanwhile, the French are using soy sauce (!), Italians are making bolognaise ragù with Kobe beef and the Americans sit somewhere between continental and oriental cuisine; the culinary equivalent of an identity crises. One thing all American food has in common, however is that it’s all invariable fatty. Kind of like the American people. You are what you eat after all.
But I digress.
I decided to begin the hunt at Abu El Seed, ostensibly a monument to Egyptian cuisine. Since I had never been there, I spent these past few months asking around, and the feedback I received was generally positive, notable for the fact that while everyone recommended the Sherkasseyya (Chicken with walnut sauce) no one had actually ordered the Koshary. “Why not?” I asked. Responses ranged from “I don’t like koshary” to “why would I pay so much for such a cheap dish?”
I thought to myself: if Abu El Seed was making koshary using the exact same ingredients as Sheikh El Balad or Koshary el Tahrir, then we’ve got problems.
At long last, after enjoying sushi, raving about C+G’s and a thinly veiled rant about the sexuality of beef, I have finally gotten around to telling you, my nonexistent reader, what the Koshary in Abu El Seed is all about.
In a word? Disappointment. Much like Lucille’s “world’s greatest hamburger” moniker, I was promised so much by the hype surrounding the restaurant itself and let down.
It didn’t taste nearly half as good as the cheaper alternatives at KT’s or Abu Tarek. The plate had very little rice, very little lentils and was little more than a bowl of slimy spaghetti strands swimming in a sea of garlicky water. There were so many transgressions committed against this venerable dish:
- The use of spaghetti pasta – cooked al dente, no less! (Koshary is the exception to the Al Dente rule).
- Incorrect proportions of fried onions, lentils, chickpeas, rice and pasta.
- drowning the plate in Garlic water: I’m sure we all agree that the application of the hot red pepper sauce, garlic vinaigrette, and tomato sauce should *always* be left upto the consumer.
In the end, I realized I need to be more selective of whom I ask for restaurant recommendations. Unfailingly, the first thing mentioned is the dessert they “loved”, the fact they were starving when they got there and that the decor is “really cool”. Well, it turns out the dessert they loved was a 2 day old apple tart bought in from the Marriot Bakery and the decor is a cross between a suburban coffee outlet and a sheesha joint, complete with Bamboo chairs.
For Koshary, Abu Seed fails miserablty. And the search continues..
Cooking Time: 45 Minutes.
To understand Koshary is to understand the Egyptian psyche. We need a feast for the eyes, and also a feast for the stomach. This is evident when we sit down at a family dinner: the table is covered end to end in different varieties of food - mountains of rice, Penne and béchamel casserole, Molokheyya soup, plates of chicken and beef and okra stew in a bright red tomato sauce - all vying for valuable real estate in our stomachs, hearts and memories.
Koshary is like a huge dinner table, except its all in one plate. We’ve got the pasta. We’ve got the Rice. We’ve got the bright red tomato sauce. Koshary is a poor man’s dish, so there is no meat or vegetables, but to make things interesting, we’ve added lentils and chickpeas, and topped it with inexpensive fried onions, and drizzled a garlic vinaigrette on top for that extra “kick”
Meanwhile, the French are using soy sauce (!), Italians are making bolognaise ragù with Kobe beef and the Americans sit somewhere between continental and oriental cuisine; the culinary equivalent of an identity crises. One thing all American food has in common, however is that it’s all invariable fatty. Kind of like the American people. You are what you eat after all.
But I digress.
I decided to begin the hunt at Abu El Seed, ostensibly a monument to Egyptian cuisine. Since I had never been there, I spent these past few months asking around, and the feedback I received was generally positive, notable for the fact that while everyone recommended the Sherkasseyya (Chicken with walnut sauce) no one had actually ordered the Koshary. “Why not?” I asked. Responses ranged from “I don’t like koshary” to “why would I pay so much for such a cheap dish?”
I thought to myself: if Abu El Seed was making koshary using the exact same ingredients as Sheikh El Balad or Koshary el Tahrir, then we’ve got problems.
At long last, after enjoying sushi, raving about C+G’s and a thinly veiled rant about the sexuality of beef, I have finally gotten around to telling you, my nonexistent reader, what the Koshary in Abu El Seed is all about.
In a word? Disappointment. Much like Lucille’s “world’s greatest hamburger” moniker, I was promised so much by the hype surrounding the restaurant itself and let down.
It didn’t taste nearly half as good as the cheaper alternatives at KT’s or Abu Tarek. The plate had very little rice, very little lentils and was little more than a bowl of slimy spaghetti strands swimming in a sea of garlicky water. There were so many transgressions committed against this venerable dish:
- The use of spaghetti pasta – cooked al dente, no less! (Koshary is the exception to the Al Dente rule).
- Incorrect proportions of fried onions, lentils, chickpeas, rice and pasta.
- drowning the plate in Garlic water: I’m sure we all agree that the application of the hot red pepper sauce, garlic vinaigrette, and tomato sauce should *always* be left upto the consumer.
In the end, I realized I need to be more selective of whom I ask for restaurant recommendations. Unfailingly, the first thing mentioned is the dessert they “loved”, the fact they were starving when they got there and that the decor is “really cool”. Well, it turns out the dessert they loved was a 2 day old apple tart bought in from the Marriot Bakery and the decor is a cross between a suburban coffee outlet and a sheesha joint, complete with Bamboo chairs.
For Koshary, Abu Seed fails miserablty. And the search continues..
Cooking Time: 45 Minutes.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
No Food, just Thought.
Why is it that Foodies are so passionate about the tasty, tiny morsels of nourishment that pass their lips? What other value does food have, other than the nutritional?
"You're fat, and look as though you should be, but you're not.”
I’ve been thinking; are there similarities between having a good meal, and finding a suitable romantic partner? Foodies are generally romantic people – just not about people. We wax on poetic about the delightfully creamy texture of a well-cooked risotto or the satisfying meaty flavor of a tender wood grilled steak. A man in love can talk for hours on end to anyone who will listen about his lovers' eyes, figure or even the way she answers the phone with an audible smile. Are they so different?
Foodies also experience food "crushes" - Pringles, anyone? They even have their guilty affairs, akin to soliciting prostitution from an unhygienic purveyor of culinary excess. Hot dog stands, Egyptian Liver sandwiches and impossibly cheap meat kofta sandwiches devoured while hot, and thoroughly enjoyable. Eating such food can be a delight in the heat of the moment, but once the foods (and our loins) have cooled down, we begin to see the folly of our hastiness: Half-cooked meat, strange deposits in the overly spiced sauce, the dirty fingers making the meal. It is the culinary equivalent of eXile's “Whore-r stories”. We've all had one of those. That oh so familiar worry of spending the next week with diarrhea hits you just as you’re taking another bite of a Bacteria sandwich from Abdo Talawoth in Nasr City. Still, you throw caution to the wind. Why? Because it just tastes so damn good!
Foodies know this maxim to be true: No man can live on bread alone. There is no "perfect food" - the one and only food I would eat for the rest of my life. Variety is the spice of life, as they say. I love steaks, but I wouldn’t eat it everyday, would I? That having been said, there are meals that I could not live without. Meals that, were they to disappear from my daily routine, would leave my life a grey and dreary mess, or at the very least, a bland string of circumstances, near misses and idle Tuesdays. Perhaps this maxim applies to love as well.
Every red-blooded, meat eating Man’s ultimate sexual fantasy is the threesome. Every true Foodie’s culinary fantasy is a three-course meal, where all the dishes get along well with each other, and there is no drama afterwards.
Is eating like sex? They both echo that primitive and formative pleasure we experienced as babies from putting things in our mouths. And how many times have you heard someone describe a meal as "orgasmic"? I'd be a fucking millionaire if I had a dollar for each time I heard that line. Nevertheless, I do understand the analogy: the right forkful of nourishment is a beautiful thing to experience. The flavors are perfectly balanced: the sweet with the sour, the salty with the bitter. The texture is sublime; creamy pomme puree, silky smooth gravy, robust meat and the delicate crunch of French fried onions. I've had those before, and they were all pure ecstasy.
I wouldn't go as far as to say they were "orgasmic", though, because that would put women in an unfair comparison with a nice, tender grilled Filet of Beef. And such a comparison would only serve to reinforce the notion that most women tend to repeat quite often:
Men treat women like pieces of meat.
Ok, let us analyse that for a second: do you know the care that is given to a piece of meat?
The best meat comes from a happy animal. Wagyu beef and Kobe beef is culled from cows that do nothing but drink beer all day, get massages and listen to soothing music. That way, their flesh has more of the flavorful fat marbling and is more tender and soft, since the cow has not been using the muscle at all. Even when they’re slaughtered, it’s done quickly and painlessly to prevent a lactic acid build-up in the muscles that could ruin the taste and texture of the meat.
A delicate Rib-eye steak is not something to be pounded into wafer thin protein wafers. It is something to be lovingly tended to, carefully trimmed of excess fat, until all you are left with is a succulent and lean piece of flesh. Lightly seasoned, it delights in the heat of the pan, subtly perfumed with rosemary and thyme and presented in all its glory with a minimum of fanfare. A well-cooked piece of meat is a beautiful thing to behold.
Maybe if we gave our food the same care and attention we gave our palates, then our significant others would be happier, more fulfilled. More tender.
A word to the wise; when giving your better half a diamond ring; do not tell her you’re trying to keep the cow happy.
Cooking time... 20 minutes
"You're fat, and look as though you should be, but you're not.”
I’ve been thinking; are there similarities between having a good meal, and finding a suitable romantic partner? Foodies are generally romantic people – just not about people. We wax on poetic about the delightfully creamy texture of a well-cooked risotto or the satisfying meaty flavor of a tender wood grilled steak. A man in love can talk for hours on end to anyone who will listen about his lovers' eyes, figure or even the way she answers the phone with an audible smile. Are they so different?
Foodies also experience food "crushes" - Pringles, anyone? They even have their guilty affairs, akin to soliciting prostitution from an unhygienic purveyor of culinary excess. Hot dog stands, Egyptian Liver sandwiches and impossibly cheap meat kofta sandwiches devoured while hot, and thoroughly enjoyable. Eating such food can be a delight in the heat of the moment, but once the foods (and our loins) have cooled down, we begin to see the folly of our hastiness: Half-cooked meat, strange deposits in the overly spiced sauce, the dirty fingers making the meal. It is the culinary equivalent of eXile's “Whore-r stories”. We've all had one of those. That oh so familiar worry of spending the next week with diarrhea hits you just as you’re taking another bite of a Bacteria sandwich from Abdo Talawoth in Nasr City. Still, you throw caution to the wind. Why? Because it just tastes so damn good!
Foodies know this maxim to be true: No man can live on bread alone. There is no "perfect food" - the one and only food I would eat for the rest of my life. Variety is the spice of life, as they say. I love steaks, but I wouldn’t eat it everyday, would I? That having been said, there are meals that I could not live without. Meals that, were they to disappear from my daily routine, would leave my life a grey and dreary mess, or at the very least, a bland string of circumstances, near misses and idle Tuesdays. Perhaps this maxim applies to love as well.
Every red-blooded, meat eating Man’s ultimate sexual fantasy is the threesome. Every true Foodie’s culinary fantasy is a three-course meal, where all the dishes get along well with each other, and there is no drama afterwards.
Is eating like sex? They both echo that primitive and formative pleasure we experienced as babies from putting things in our mouths. And how many times have you heard someone describe a meal as "orgasmic"? I'd be a fucking millionaire if I had a dollar for each time I heard that line. Nevertheless, I do understand the analogy: the right forkful of nourishment is a beautiful thing to experience. The flavors are perfectly balanced: the sweet with the sour, the salty with the bitter. The texture is sublime; creamy pomme puree, silky smooth gravy, robust meat and the delicate crunch of French fried onions. I've had those before, and they were all pure ecstasy.
I wouldn't go as far as to say they were "orgasmic", though, because that would put women in an unfair comparison with a nice, tender grilled Filet of Beef. And such a comparison would only serve to reinforce the notion that most women tend to repeat quite often:
Men treat women like pieces of meat.
Ok, let us analyse that for a second: do you know the care that is given to a piece of meat?
The best meat comes from a happy animal. Wagyu beef and Kobe beef is culled from cows that do nothing but drink beer all day, get massages and listen to soothing music. That way, their flesh has more of the flavorful fat marbling and is more tender and soft, since the cow has not been using the muscle at all. Even when they’re slaughtered, it’s done quickly and painlessly to prevent a lactic acid build-up in the muscles that could ruin the taste and texture of the meat.
A delicate Rib-eye steak is not something to be pounded into wafer thin protein wafers. It is something to be lovingly tended to, carefully trimmed of excess fat, until all you are left with is a succulent and lean piece of flesh. Lightly seasoned, it delights in the heat of the pan, subtly perfumed with rosemary and thyme and presented in all its glory with a minimum of fanfare. A well-cooked piece of meat is a beautiful thing to behold.
Maybe if we gave our food the same care and attention we gave our palates, then our significant others would be happier, more fulfilled. More tender.
A word to the wise; when giving your better half a diamond ring; do not tell her you’re trying to keep the cow happy.
Cooking time... 20 minutes
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