From The Cook Grilling Your Well-Done Steak

You’re An Idiot, But I Have No Beef With You

To the gentleman at table #5:

You’ve just ordered a 12-ounce ribeye steak. It’s usually a fine choice. The high-fat content makes the steak tender and juicy, cooked in its own juices. When prepared properly, you’ll find it perfectly seared and exploding with flavor.

Except, you ordered it well-done.

I immediately knew several things.

• As a kid, you probably set your roasted marshmallows on fire. You swore this was because you “like them that way.”
• If you ever manage to procreate, you’ll teach your children to set their marshmallows on fire, too. Then they’ll eat them, which is a form of child abuse.
• You and I are never going to be friends. If I’m wrong about that, I’m doing the cooking.

Oh, and I’ve informed your waitress, Barbara, that she needs to have the A-1 sauce ready. Barbara said she already had it on standby. I asked her how she knew.

He seems the type — Barbara.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m thrilled you don’t know how to order or appreciate a good steak.

Customers like you give me a — if you’ll pardon the pun — rare opportunity.

This order allows me to serve a steak that more discerning diners would know to send back.

Not you. No, you prefer a dry cut of meat that’s mostly flavorless and nearly too tough to cut. You’re not going to notice if the steak is terrible. In fact, if the steak turns out fabulous, you’ll send it back and only tip Barbara a measly 10%.

Don’t do that to Barbara. She deserves more dealing with uninformed people like yourself.

Uniformed? That’s another thing I know about you. You probably think that well-done steaks cook out the blood, right?

Here’s the thing. It’s not blood. That reddish juice is a protein. Okay, it’s a protein that’s called myoglobin which looks suspiciously like hemoglobin. But that’s like saying hemoglobin looks suspiciously like hobgoblin.

I wouldn’t try to steer you away from ordering your steak this way. I’ve got terrible cuts to get rid of, remember? I know that explaining this to you is a waste of paper. You probably even stopped reading after the first pun, anyway.

Assuming everyone who orders a steak well-done is humorless is probably a mis-steak. But again, to paraphrase Barbara, you seem the type.

Thank you for wanting a gray and chewy steak

Thank you, in fact, for letting us get rid of all the excess A1 sauce. We’re a pretty popular restaurant, and I make an incredibly flavorful steak. This means we don’t get much call for the A1.

I’ll gladly incinerate your steak. It feels like arson, which is probably another thing you enjoy. But that’s not my problem. That’s between you, the fire department, and possibly the insurance company.

Oh. And your date.

I see that she ordered an 8-ounce filet, cooked medium-rare.

Yeah. She’s too good for you. I’ve taken the liberty of asking your waitress, Barbara, to pass a note to her. It’s much shorter. Barbara said she was happy to do it. She feels sorry for the poor girl.

You can do better. I get off at 10. Give Barbara your number.

I started to put in a better-meat joke into her note, but it seemed to be crossing a line.

I’ve said enough. Here’s one final word of thanks. Because you know so little about proper steaks, it allows me to butcher the cut that the butcher butchered.

Your cook.

Scott Hughey grew up in a family where nearly everyone preferred a well-done steak. He can still love someone with this misconception, but he prefers to do the cooking himself. If you’re one such individual, don’t have a cow. Maybe try the salad instead.