On mine and Chris’ first Valentine’s Day together, I wanted to show my hot new boyfriend just how good he had it, and went balls to the walls for the inaugural Karen & Chris celebrate V-Day. Lingerie, nice wine, candles… I prepared the scene, reclined on the couch and waited for my man to come home for his surprise. And I waited. And I waited. And I gave up on the sexy pose, pulled the overpriced lingerie out of my butt-crack, pulled a blanket over me because I was freezing (why is Valentine’s Day in February?) drank a glass of wine and waited some more.
Finally, Chris got home. I rallied my enthusiasm and let him absorb the sexy. Apparently, it didn’t take long. He barely muttered a grumpy hello before plopping himself down on the couch next to me, pouring his own glass of wine, and unceremoniously handing over my gift, the getting of which I assume caused his tardiness. Of course, I was willing to overlook the tardiness, because, look! He had a gift for me! On our first Valentine’s Day together! I reached into the bag he had handed me, and pulled out…
A jean-jacket.
A used jean-jacked.
An ugly used jean-jacket.
And that marked the end of Karen & Chris celebrate V-Day.
Fast-forward nine (!) years and two children, and things surrounding St. V have changed just a tad. Chris and I still do not mark the occasion with gifts or pressure or butt-floss lingerie, but we have kids now, and I am a sappy mom looking for any excuse to exploit the serious cuteness that exists in the daddy-daughter relationship. So this year, I coached as Bee made a card for dad, as well as a picture of our family on a construction paper heart that I cut out for her. These were waiting for Chris when he came downstairs that Saturday morning, and I’m sure I would have been touched by the look on his face, had I gotten out of bed. (Nothing says I love you like letting me sleep in.)
Of course, I do think that there should be some pleasures of the flesh on Valentine’s Day, so I bought steak for dinner.
I have never cooked steak. Not once, not ever. It’s not my thing. I barely eat it, seeing as red meat is a pretty new (re)addition to my diet, and when I do, it’s because someone else has cooked it. I don’t know how to cook steak, as evidenced by my game of 20 questions with the girl behind the counter at Cumbrae’s, from whence the steaks came.
So there I am, $30 worth of steak on my pan, ready to go under the broiler, because I love my husband. 7 minutes per side, and not a minute more, and I will get over my red-meat phobia that any pink flesh will inevitably lead to some horrible brain-melting disease.
I dutifully flip my steaks at 7 minutes, and I gotta admit, they look and smell really good.
7 minutes for the second side, and out come the steaks. Chris’ steak, the one I got specially for him, slathered in peppercorns, is PERFECT. I take it off the broil pan, and let it rest, just like Top Chef taught me. I give mine a poke, and it feels, well a bit fleshier. I want to put it back under the broiler, but I don’t want to seem paranoid. I poke it again. It moos, so back under it goes, for another 3 minutes. After about 30 seconds, I smell something… smoke? I open the door to the oven and let out a yell.
FUEGO!
THE STEAK IS ON FIRE!
The bloody steak is on bloody fire! The smoke detector goes off, the kids dive under the blanket on the couch, and Chris comes running. ‘Give me the tongs! Give me the tongs!’ Flames are coming out of the oven and licking the stovetop. I turn off the oven and throw Chris the tongs. He marches the burning pan to the sink and turns on the water.
FOOSH
Water on a grease fire? Not so smart, Chris. ‘Take it outside! Take it outside!’ I yell, and shove Chris out the back door. He places the pan on the snow, (ah, this is why Valentine’s Day is in February) and the flames are quickly extinguished. We press the pause button on the smoke detector, the kids emerge from the safety of the afghan, and Chris brings the pan back inside.
One edge of the steak is quite charred, but otherwise, it looks ok. I transfer it to a cutting board, and wonder if I have just thrown $18 down the drain. Hmm, not bad… a little tough round the outside, but still a nice, rosy hue in the centre, kind of like my heart. My children devour their first steak ever, and we toast each other over our good fortune that Valentine’s day was not a total crash and burn.
***
*SoundBITE*
It’s easy to keep up your iron stores, even if you are vegetarian. While a nice, juicy steak is a decadent way to absorb some of the old Fe, pound-for-pound, you’ll get more bang for your nutritional buck with beans, legumes, lentils, spinach, oatmeal or dates (to name a few). Of course, for the carnivores, the best way to bank some extra iron is with a nice, juicy beef kidney. Barf. Mmmm.
Yes! I don't grill either....
Posted by: daysgoby | February 25, 2009 at 09:13 AM