I just had some spectacular steak for dinner. That I'm particular about steak, I will be the first to admit. If it's not the filet, I'm not really interested unless it's Porterhouse or Delmonico grilled by my dad. Even then, I will diligently cut off any fat or white bits I deem "weird stuff." My dad is usually more than happy to eat my castoffs for another succulent bite or two of filet. (The filet side is always divided evenly in my family.)
Mom deserves special kudos for procuring tonight's steak because she had to fight the butcher for it. In the meat case behind another display, my mom spied two Porterhouse steaks on sale for $5 off. She asked for the one in back and the butcher said, "Lady, these are some nice sirloins," pointing to another row of steaks as if my mom was ignorant.
Mom said, "I don't care what those are. I want the Porterhouse in back over there."
Begrudgingly, the butcher moved to that part of the case and started pulling out the thinner steak in front.
"Not that one," Mom insisted, "The one behind it."
This is the second time this has happened to her this summer. Not even the same butcher. Dad and I agree that if they wanted the steaks for themselves, they should've bought them and stuck them in an employee fridge. It seems clear they intended to save the steaks for someone. All I can figure is that maybe they get a better discount if the steaks are still there at the end of their shifts.
If you want the steaks, pony up the cash, suckas. Otherwise, my mom's gonna beat you out every time. Color me proud.
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