Monday, June 17, 2013

Steak Sauce

Welcome back,


The title of this week's blog is Steak Sauce. No, there is not an underlying meaning. The subject is very "cut and dry," and that is an intended pun. The only acceptable way steak sauce should be used is when you are eating a cut of meat so well-done and dry, that you cannot possibly stomach the taste without it.  See what I did there? First, let's establish what constitues a "steak sauce" or at least my definition of "steak sauce" in this blog. A1 is a steak sauce. Anything labeled "steak sauce" is a steak sauce. No, Worcestershire Sauce is not a steak sauce. Neither are Béarnaise or Hollandaise sauces. So if you enjoy those with your steaks, you have no mental issues that we know of.


Next, I will admit that steak sauce is acceptable on some foods. Examples of cuts of meat that are acceptable for steak sauce use consist of the following:


  • A cheap ribeye or sirloin you accidentally overcooked (and that is pushing it)
  • A leftover hamburger that has no toppings or buns because you left them at the restaurant
  • Any cut of meat that ends in the suffix, "-umm"
  • The beef inside of Chef Boyardee ravioli that has somehow lost its way off of your plate 
  • Goodyear tires

Go home Steak-umm, you're drunk

If you have an unopened bottle of A1 or any steak sauce for that matter, throw it out the window. I am not kidding. Get control of your life and end this madness before a future employer catches you using it at a business dinner and fires you on the spot. Some people use it as a marinade. Which is fine, if you just had your wisdom teeth removed and still feeling the anesthesia. Use Worcestershire sauce, some soy sauce, and a little garlic powder and black pepper if you really need to marinade.

You are probably thinking to yourself, "Clark, why do you hate steak sauce so much?" I have an answer for you; I just do. If you know me well enough, you know steak is my favorite food. I appreciate a great steak more than any food in the world. A steak with potatoes and asparagus would be my last meal on this earth. The problem is that I see way too many people lathering on varieties of different steak sauces onto cuts of great meat. It is a steak, not a cheeseburger. You wouldn't put BBQ sauce or ketchup on a steak would you? So why are you ruining that filet with A1? It does not need it, friend. Instead, order it with some sautéed mushrooms and onions if you are that concerned that a delicious steak's original flavor will not satisfy your needs. It is tasty just the way it is. The better the cut of meat, the less you have to do to it to make it taste good.

Think of something that you love. It could be anything from a food to a hobby. When you see someone doing it or preparing it the wrong way, does it not drive you crazy? For example; someone who does hair for a living probably cringes when they see a bad hair style. It is the same general concept. There is a reason that the best steakhouses in the entire world dry age their steaks and simply season them with salt and pepper. However, I'll save dry rub conversation for another post for another blog on another day.

Additionally, the better the cut of meat is, the less you should cook it. However, it all depends on the quality of restaurant you are at. Anything past "medium" is a steak sin unless this is the 90's and you are at Back Bay or Rax. I know the thought of the color pink on something you are eating is scary. I mean, every pink food that has ever existed is simply terrifying. My mother orders her steak as well-done as you can get it, and it is as pointless as this entire blog. There are no cost decreases to how long something gets cooked, so why are you even ordering a steak if it is not in its best state? Oh, but any pink means it's bloody, right? No. Listen, I am not asking you to order it raw. Just don't embarrass yourself in public ordering an expensive steak, cooked like a cheap hamburger, covered in ketchup's ugly brother.
Pink foods have been known to cause hundreds of diseases and ruin millions of lives each year

Wean yourself into it. If you get your steaks medium-well, order it medium next time. Then in a year or two, go up to medium-rare. That is what I did as a young 2 year-old. By 3, I was dabbling in rare and by 4, I ordered my steaks blue. I was actually kicked out of Texas Roadhouse at the age of 5 for purposely spilling my Hi-C orange on a waitress that brought A1 to the table. So next time you go to a decent restaurant that looks like it would have a good steak (no not red lobster), don't be afraid of a little pink and be very afraid of a little steak sauce. I promise you will be more successful in life, and the opposite sex will flock to you because of your intelligent decision. Do not disappoint your family and friends with a simple, yet bad decision that can easily be avoided.


But I digress.



Cork Update: Over the weekend, I cleaned a golfer's clubs and loaded his bag into his vehicle. Upon doing so, he asked me what my name was. I said "Clark." He responds with, "Cork?" I do not get it, nor will I ever get it. Maybe Clark is stupid name. Maybe my name should be Cork. Maybe my life is a joke. Either way, it is a day ruiner.




Monday, June 10, 2013

Introduction

Hello all,

I have been known to have a good rant or 4 in my lifetime. It is not that I am an impatient person, but more that I am impatient with pure stupidity. It has little, or nothing to do with one's intelligence. It is the lack of common sense that drives me up a wall. I figure nothing will start off by blog more perfectly than explaining how the nickname "Cork" came to be in a complete and utter instance of blatant stupidity.

First, I would consider myself a fairly sound person when it comes to common sense. However, I often have my blunders. Most of the time, it's losing or forgetting something. A few months ago, I forgot my wallet in MountainLair. It was probably on the Taziki's counter or maybe on a table in the dining area. That's not important, though. I called about an hour later and spoke to a nice woman on the phone. A nice, brainless woman. The phone conversation went something like this:

Her: Hello this is____, how can I help you?  
Me: Hi, I think I lost a wallet and was wondering if someone turned it in. Its a black polo wallet. 
Her: Mhmmm what is your name? 
Me: Clark D______
Her: Cork Davis?? I don't see your wallet in here, sir. Sorry. 
Me: No, my name is Clark D______. C-L-A-R-K D-O-U-G-L-A-S.



She then informs me that they do have my wallet. I pick it up. Story is over. So let's recap that quickly.

You thought my name was Cork?

Cork? Cork....? What they plug into wine bottles and illegally stuff baseball bats with? Why on earth, would that be your first response to the name I provided you with initially? You could have asked "excuse me" or have said any name in combination with the last name "Davis" and not have pissed me off. I would have accepted Corey, Craig, Mark, among others. But Cork? There have only been a handful of people with the legitimate birth name of "Cork" in the history of the human race. Corky Miller is a catcher in the Cincinnati Reds farm system, but that is not a household name. Corky Romano was a 2001 movie with Chris Kattan, but it currently holds a 6% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. It's not even famous for being a terrible movie, like Freddy Got Fingered or From Justin to Kelly. But it is forgotten and an embarrassing chapter of America's film past.

Corky Romano
But still, his name is Corky not Cork. How could you possibly, in any dimension ever conspired by a human being, think that asking me if my name was "Cork" would be the best possible addition to our conversation? After that, I questioned my own life for days to come. Who am I? If this woman thinks my name is Cork, what does the rest of the world think when they hear my name? Then, when I shook it off and realized that it is not a big deal, it would creep back up. I searched Facebook for someone named "Cork," but there were few results. Several entries for a university in Ireland with the name Cork in it (which I will be ordering a shirt from this week). There was one glimpse of hope, though. One search result was a man by the name of Cork Davis. Naturally, I clicked "add as friend." He has yet to accept, which is discouraging.

Anyway, I told some of my friends the story and it has stuck. My entire childhood, my friends and I gave each other nicknames. It usually was your last name, a shortened version of your first name, or a middle name. Hell, sometimes you got called by another name that sounded like your name. A name that belongs to thousands of people and could easily be mistaken as your name. It could even be your actual name with a "y" on the end of it, and it could be accepted.

But me. I have never had a nickname. I have always been called Clark, or sometimes Clarky by my family or something. I always sort of wanted one, I guess. It is cool to be called by your last name sometimes. But I got stuck with Cork. Cork. CORK. All because a woman decided to flip the switch to "off" when she arrived to work that day. Cork. Cork Davis.


Oh well, I digress.