The Cow And I

Mmmm. Chicken.

Whenever my wife sees me make a steak, she wants some. By now, this isn't a hard thing to imagine, as both my opponent and I have had a fair amount of practice cooking steaks this year. And every time she gets that look in her eye, I gladly oblige her, because I love, honor and cherish my wife.

But every time (and I mean every time) I get a slightly anxious feeling as the meat leaves my plate on her fork. I can't help it. It's instinctive.

Can you blame me? Of course, if you're my opponent, you probably can, because Guy blames me for everything. But if you aren't a competitor in BeefStakes, how can you possibly understand that every lost morsel of beef represents a missed opportunity. I've been eating, drinking, excreting and dreaming beef for almost two-thirds of a year now, and it's gotten lodged in my psyche like a piece of gristle caught between one's molars. Seriously, try consuming close to one hundred sixty pounds of beef in the space of a few months and you might get an idea of my mental state.

But as I've said before, necessity is the mother of invention. It pains me to watch my beef slip away into the mouth of another, so why do I have to give it up at all? Why not adapt my superb cooking skills to other meats? How about a grilled chicken breast? Yeah, that looks good, doesn't it? Oh, it's even organic? Fantastic! OK then, one marinated, grilled chicken breast coming right up!

On second thought, better make it two.

Posted by eric at August 20, 2004 04:49 PM