IV. Beef: Literal and Figurative

Originally posted at A List of Grievances on April 21, 2010.

I am a little concerned, people.

(Look at me using the word “people” when the only people who read this are my sister and the Tripod staff! Delusions of grandeur, I has them.)

I just got back from dinner at the Bistro. (And by “back,” I mean… I’m tutoring at the Writing Center. But I practically live in the English Department, anyway, so it is sort of like being home. In a sad, “I’m so overworked; help me, Rhonda” kind of way.) They have those nifty little dinner options where Trevor will cook something awesome for you and it costs anywhere from $7-12, which is practically highway robbery given the exorbitant prices Chartwells charges (but that’s a post for another day, sadly). Last night was penne alfredo with chicken & broccoli (which is pretty much my favorite meal ever). Tonight was steak, tiny potatoes (because I’m pretty sure to be a “fingerling” potato, you kind of have to look like a finger, not a crippled grape), and grilled asparagus (which had some kind of sickeningly sweet marinade, was cold and therefore unappetizing, and I am pretty sure I saw Trevor pour coffee on it, which I found disturbing, to say the least.  Unless it was balsamic vinegar, in which case… gross, I hate balsamic vinegar).

I asked for my steak medium rare, because I prefer my food to pretty much walk onto my plate, but I don’t usually trust anyone who is not a restaurant chef to get that right. So I usually order it a bit more done if I’m at some sort of casual event. I am thinking I should have requested medium, though, or even medium well, because I tried to cut into this thing and it was very, very rare (read: pretty much still raw) on one side.

The sad part is that I was so hungry I ate that bit anyway.

I probably wouldn’t have had so much time to think about it if I had a knife that could actually, you know, cut through stuff. Plastic knife + steak = it’s not going to happen. (I actually snapped one of the tines off of my fork because the steak was so hard to hold down and cut. I am a little scared that I swallowed it and I am going to get a perforated bowel and die.)

(I think I need to up my dosage.)

Anyway, I don’t know what would be so terrible about actually providing cutlery that… cuts. This is Trinity, Chartwells, not juvy. My mom’s best friend used to teach cosmetology at Tryon School for Girls in Johnstown, N.Y. (AP STYLE WHAT WHAT!) and the girls were never allowed to have actual scissors or anything remotely pointy because they might go crazy and start stabbing each other or my mom’s friend. But I don’t see why we can’t have actual steak knives just for the act of… cutting steak.

… This is kind of a stupid post. I’m gonna blame A. P. for that.


About Liz

I work in publishing.
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