The Cow And I

WARNING: DO NOT EAT THIS STEAK

I'm not often prone to given my opponent assistance or helpful advice in his quest for the beef crown, particularly when he's "trolloping" me, as he puts it. I'm not sure what to make of that, but it sounds bad. A lot is at stake, here, in any case. But, at heart, I'm a compassionate person, and I look out for Guy's welfare as I know he would do the same for me.

This is precisely why I offer him a friendly warning. Consider it a helpful gesture of goodwill from a dear old companion, for which he'll thank me one day. Here it is: Do not attempt to eat Skirt Steak. I did, with drastic consequences.

Innocently enough, I purchased this steak at the store yesterday, imagining that I would happily add it to my growing list of favorites. I read the directions on the package this morning, placed it in a plastic bag with marinade, and returned the meat to the refrigerator while I hurried off to work.

It looked tasty enough as I placed it in the broiler pan later in the evening:

It even looked good coming out:

As I sat down to eat this slab of steaming meat, I imagined a succulent, wholesome cut. But that's when the pleasure ended.

The first bite brought tears to my eyes, it tasted so bad. Picture some Siberian tundra hiker happening upon the carcass of a woolly rhino, protruding from a melted glacier, teeming with egg-laying flies, rotting in the summer sun. Skirt Steak has more repugnant flavor than even that.

The second bite triggered a series of rapidly forming mouth boils that swelled and burst as I chewed, filling my orifice with salty fluid, gagging me with surprising force.

Then I somehow managed to gulp down the half-masticated bites. To my horror, seconds later, I could feel a trail of scraped, hemhorraging tissue leading all the way down to my lower esophageal sphincter.

But all this paled in comparison to my outright blinding pain when this meaty mess hit my stomach. As the lump of poisonous, rancid flesh dropped into its hydrochloric recesses, the Skirt Steak's enzymes produced an explosive chemical reaction with the digestive juices, instantaneously expanding my stomach to the size of a refrigerator, rupturing it with the loud pop of a shotgun. Blood-soaked bits of my obliterated organs sprayed all over the walls of my breakfast nook.

As the sharp report of this explosion echoed through the rooms and corridors of my home, I was still conscious enough to cry for help. And as I blacked out, I prayed that someone would hear my weak, strangled cry.

I awoke later in the hospital, where I write this entry. They have secured me a transplant stomach, spleen, kidneys and liver after my miraculous survival. I am extremely lucky to be alive. This ordeal has taught me a lesson. Be careful what you put in your mouth.

I repeat my warning to Guy. For the Love of God, don't attempt to eat Skirt Steak. If you choose to ignore this plea, I have washed my hands of responsibility. Don't say I didn't tell you so. And if you go ahead and take a chance, just remember: it may be the last meal you'll ever eat.

Posted by eric at April 14, 2004 07:38 PM