Sometimes you just need a steak.
But, because you’re a totally unAmerican librul soshulist elitist, it needs to be a local, biodynamic, 100% grass-fed ribeye seared but good in an iron skillet with peanut oil and finished with beurre de Maître d’hôtel made from shrimp butter, lemon juice, parsley, pepper, and a dribble of Belizian habañero hot sauce.
I’m in Connecticut right now for the opening of a group show that I have work in, so make fun of me all you want while Joe “Mentum” Lieberman is my Senator for two days. I will say that this meal offers two instructive attributes for regular Murkins looking to up their culinary game:
1. Shrimp butter is better than regular butter. Having a compound butter on hand is a dead easy shortcut to culinary elitism. Also.
2. You know how every cookbook in the world tells you to bring your steak to room temp for an hour before you cook it? Well, in this case the steak was only half-thawed when it hit the skillet. The result? I got to sear the living shit out of both sides of it and keep the center rare how I like it. Especially if you have a wimpy stove, this method offers the ability to maillard the daylights out of your exterior and still have a juicy pink interior (which, let’s face it, is what we’re all looking for). Not frozen, mind, but pliable yet still kind of firm. Another case where laziness/happy accidents/poor planning can actually be your friend if you pay attention.
I let it rest for ten minutes to equalize the temperature, and then cut it up and served it with roasted quarters of kabocha squash and a sautéed-then-steamed mix of brussels sprouts, kale, and pak choi dressed with cider vinegar, mirin, and Worcestershire sauce. That darn butter just sort of drooled all over everything, as is its wont. Unfortunately, this is where the manly myth founders on the rocks of reality; if I was a real man, I would have eaten this all by myself. As it was, I cut it into pieces and it fed all three of us. It’s so hard to put food on your family.