Miss Edith admits to a weakness for checking FoxNews.com more often than is healthy.
It paid off today when she found a piece about an elderly woman who fell down a "baggage shoot" at an airport.
I thought, "Damn, I should post that at Edith Says." But then I got distracted. And by the time I sat to write this, and post the link, the brainiacs at FoxNews had corrected the error (in both the headline and the text).
But for the record, folks:
bamboo shoots; baggage chutes.
If baggage shoots, we're all in really, really big trouble.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Filet Mignon: A Couple of Bucks Per Pound
I've been meaning to write this down for a few weeks now but it keeps slipping my mind and then I'll remember it at an inopportune moment when I don't happen to be anywhere near a computer.
Miss Edith, who needs to revamp her "occupation" listing as "housewife," since she doesn't seem to have much else going on in her life these days, finds herself cooking the overwhelming majority of the meals she and Notarius are eating these days.
Since Notarius is a serious and devoted carnivore, who ardently believes that vegans and vegetarians are really just kidding themselves that what they eat is food, Miss Edith's been going out of her way to procure nice meaty items for Notarius to ingest. A few months ago, we discovered the pleasures of blade steaks, an inexpensive cut of red meat that we can usually find, even at a local overpriced market, for very little money. The beef is tasty, it's quickly cooked, it takes wonderfully to marinades, and really the only flaw is this stripe of tough connective fibers (whatever it is, I don't know what it's called) that runs down the middle of each steak. If you cut it away, you've got some really nice meat there. Three or four dollars and we can get usually two good meals out of those steaks: it's a bargain.
So I went to my local overpriced Italian gourmet food shop and asked for a package of blade steaks; the nice young woman behind the counter reached into the cooler, held up a package holding two steaks, and asked, "Is this okay?" I said, "Sure! Great!" and tossed the package into my basket. The price? $3.54.
I marinated the steaks in a Zlploc bag: some Pickapeppa sauce, some olive oil, some salt and pepper. Maybe I tossed in some mustard, I can't recall now. To be honest, i wasn't paying close attention; I just wanted to add a little bit of savor, a little oomph to the meat. A few hours later, I got to work. I sauteed onions in a pan, and then removed the onions and sauteed sliced mushrooms. When the mushrooms were starting to crisp up a bit, I removed them from the pan and then I tossed in the steaks. I didn't pay close attention, again; this was really just a quick, down and dirty meal. The steaks cooked in a few minutes, and I called Notarius in to eat.
We sat down unceremoniously at the kitchen table. "This is really good," my beloved said, cutting into the beef happily. "Cheap dinner," I said modestly. About thirty seconds later, Notarius observed that these steaks weren't blade steaks.
"Sure they are," I said. "That's what I asked for and that's what I bought."
We continued eating, talking, and enjoying our meal, which really was better than I'd thought it would be. When we were nearly finished, Notarius said again, "This isn't blade steak. Look, there's no little strip of gristly bit left over." I looked down at my plate and realized that he was right, that I'd eaten every scrap of meat I'd put on my plate. "You got filet mignon," he said. I gawped at him. "No," I said. "I mean, I paid $3.54. Look," I said, walking to the garbage can. The paper wrapping for the meat had the price written on it in grease pencil. "You don't get filet mignon for $3.54."
"Well, apparently you do," Notarius said.
I wonder if the butcher counter clerk ever figured out her mistake. I wonder if the market owner chewed her out. I hope not, because it was an innocent mistake she made. But I wanted to thank her, because she inadvertently provided us with the makings of an exceptionally fine dinner, apropos of nothing. We'll never have that kind of luck again.
Miss Edith, who needs to revamp her "occupation" listing as "housewife," since she doesn't seem to have much else going on in her life these days, finds herself cooking the overwhelming majority of the meals she and Notarius are eating these days.
Since Notarius is a serious and devoted carnivore, who ardently believes that vegans and vegetarians are really just kidding themselves that what they eat is food, Miss Edith's been going out of her way to procure nice meaty items for Notarius to ingest. A few months ago, we discovered the pleasures of blade steaks, an inexpensive cut of red meat that we can usually find, even at a local overpriced market, for very little money. The beef is tasty, it's quickly cooked, it takes wonderfully to marinades, and really the only flaw is this stripe of tough connective fibers (whatever it is, I don't know what it's called) that runs down the middle of each steak. If you cut it away, you've got some really nice meat there. Three or four dollars and we can get usually two good meals out of those steaks: it's a bargain.
So I went to my local overpriced Italian gourmet food shop and asked for a package of blade steaks; the nice young woman behind the counter reached into the cooler, held up a package holding two steaks, and asked, "Is this okay?" I said, "Sure! Great!" and tossed the package into my basket. The price? $3.54.
I marinated the steaks in a Zlploc bag: some Pickapeppa sauce, some olive oil, some salt and pepper. Maybe I tossed in some mustard, I can't recall now. To be honest, i wasn't paying close attention; I just wanted to add a little bit of savor, a little oomph to the meat. A few hours later, I got to work. I sauteed onions in a pan, and then removed the onions and sauteed sliced mushrooms. When the mushrooms were starting to crisp up a bit, I removed them from the pan and then I tossed in the steaks. I didn't pay close attention, again; this was really just a quick, down and dirty meal. The steaks cooked in a few minutes, and I called Notarius in to eat.
We sat down unceremoniously at the kitchen table. "This is really good," my beloved said, cutting into the beef happily. "Cheap dinner," I said modestly. About thirty seconds later, Notarius observed that these steaks weren't blade steaks.
"Sure they are," I said. "That's what I asked for and that's what I bought."
We continued eating, talking, and enjoying our meal, which really was better than I'd thought it would be. When we were nearly finished, Notarius said again, "This isn't blade steak. Look, there's no little strip of gristly bit left over." I looked down at my plate and realized that he was right, that I'd eaten every scrap of meat I'd put on my plate. "You got filet mignon," he said. I gawped at him. "No," I said. "I mean, I paid $3.54. Look," I said, walking to the garbage can. The paper wrapping for the meat had the price written on it in grease pencil. "You don't get filet mignon for $3.54."
"Well, apparently you do," Notarius said.
I wonder if the butcher counter clerk ever figured out her mistake. I wonder if the market owner chewed her out. I hope not, because it was an innocent mistake she made. But I wanted to thank her, because she inadvertently provided us with the makings of an exceptionally fine dinner, apropos of nothing. We'll never have that kind of luck again.
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