I remember my father telling me when I set out for college that I’d meet people with strange habits: to never act surprised, even when they put catsup on their steaks. I never developed the habits they tried so hard (perhaps too hard) to instill, but I’ve never put catsup on my steaks. So, yes, I do find this alarming. (This comes thanks to Instapundit, but the original interview is in the NYTimes, which may have being put on – could they tell? Apparently some of the commentors at Instapundit couldn’t.)
28 thoughts on “A Problem with Trump”
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Amusing. My father did most of the cooking in our family and I never had a medium rare steak until I left home.
He did do a nice turkey, except that one time he put too much sage in the dressing.
“I’ve never put catsup on my steaks.”
That’s nothing. Some men put fruit in their beer.
That’s nothing. Some men put fruit in their beer.
That’s nothing, some men in Germany sit down to pee.
Some put vegetables in their martinis.
I ewmember a medium rare “steak” I was served in SE Asia. It had the right color but little black things popped out an carried it off my plate on to the floor under the reeds. Since that time I order well done steaks
I have been a vegetarian for over 50 years, but I remember going to nice restaurants with my father to eat “show it the flame” rare Filet Mignon. The blood was almost uncooked and it was glorious. My father and I did this sometimes by ourselves, as the rest of the family were not happy with this barbaric practice.
I read this unsavory fact regarding The Butler’s Tale earlier today and must admit I find it equally disturbing especially with the race essentially over and the nominee apparent in direct contravention to all gourmet that is right and good. And tasty.
Whatever the diet, the man is indefatigable! 4 hours of sleep a night, never looks or sounds tired. Always on. I eat healthily, for the most part, and cannot come close to his energy and he’s 10 years older than me. Um, I reckon no drinking or smoking helps him in that regard! For me, let’s just say misteaks were made and never well done!
Why am I not surprised pen is a grass eater.
I know a few people who eat their steaks well done, as long as they don’t do that to mine, who cares. The advantage of having someone around who eats well done steaks is the quality doesn’t mater as much so you can give them whichever looks not quite as good.
Just as long as one doesn’t cheat and cut the steak to see how thoroughly it’s cooked. The wise carnivore never acts so recklessly and knows just by studying the exterior. The loss of critical juices from the ensuing sever can be too much for this red meat eater to bear….And for heaven sake “rest” the steak.
I don’t care what the writer thinks, medium is the right degree cooking for steak and burgers. If it’s bleeding, it ain’t done.
And I squeeze oranges in beer once in awhile. It’s good. Just because you uncultured heathens were raised by goats in barns and have no taste buds…
When I was in college we used to go a place in Hermosa Beach called Howard Bugbee’s where they had “red beer” which was beer and tomato juice.
I was young then.
Beer and tomato juice is yyyuuuuuggggee in the midwest farmbelt for breakfast.
In my opinion, V8, vodka, Old Bay, and celery seed make a great Maryland style bloody mary. I used to drink those all the time.
I found a new way for a restaurant not to screw up my steak, and that is called “rare-plus”. I used to always order my steaks rare, which meant warmed up nicely, but not cooked. Lately, the steaks have been coming raw. A few months ago I asked for “between medium-rare and rare” and the server said “oh, rare plus!”. Perfect.
When I lived in Paris I tried “steak Tartar” which is raw steak served at room temperature, usually ground into hamburger. Served with a variety of sauces and garnish. The best steak tartar is a 16oz prime S.W.Iowa corn fed filet mignon (not ground up).
When I worked in Baltimore, I used to fish with with a bunch of guys from South Baltimore. On one of the first trips I asked if I should bring any food; they told me they’d provide lunch. When lunchtime came they produced sandwiches made of raw ground steak and chopped onions, liberally peppered. Evidently an area tradition, and a test for a Midwesterner like me. I ate one without comment. I had many a subsequent adventure, both on and off the water, with these guys, but never saw “ground steak and onions” again.
Big dust-up at the famous Peter Luger’s when I sent back a steak for not being cooked the way I ordered it. The abrasive, too-busy-too-be-bothered waiter informed me “that’s the way they cook them” and huffed off. When it came back he slapped it down and stormed off.
End of meal. Time for the all-important “tip”. A sacrament in the world of NYC table/bar service. People have been chased down the street, assaulted, for failure to leave an adequate tip. No tip. A fifty dollar steak, that I can’t get prepared in the way I politely asked for is a problem, a customer service problem. The brute was nearly in tears as we walked out. I kept that anecdote fresh on the restaurant reviews for quite some time.
I remember reading an article on the restaurant industry and if a customer wants a well-done steak the chef will many times find the oldest piece of meat available – why ruin a fresh cut?
On strange mixtures in Germany 40 some years ago they would drink “Cola Bier – beer mixed with fountain Coke.
On a hot day it was really good.
Over here they don’t use as much syrup in the Coke – the beer isn’t the same; somethinkg gets lost in the translation…
@Will the surprise was the waiter’s surprise
“The abrasive, too-busy-too-be-bothered waiter informed me “that’s the way they cook them” and huffed off. ”
It reminds me of an incident years ago at a big dinner when the wine was sour. I was asked to taste it and it was vinegar. The cork may have dried out from improper storage (neck up). I told the waiter it was bad and he argued with me ! He said “There’s nothing wrong with that wine!”
It was hilarious. We were at a table of ten or twelve. Someone else finally said, “Oh, We’ll drink it.” I can’t imagine what they thought it was. They obviously didn’t know what wine was supposed to taste like. I can’t remember the tip but it was probably small. Usually, for large parties, the tip is included and that may be what happened, both to the waiter and the tip.
Speaking of things in beer, I recall when I was a child one of my father’s friends use to get a raw egg in his beer. I rather doubt the health codes allow that anymore.
As far a beer with soda goes, my father told me about drinking “Tiger Tops” in Thailand when he was in the Navy. It was a mixture of Tiger Beer and Squirt.
I like my vegetables raw, or lightly cooked still holding the snap of life, that way I feel I am participating in the cycle/circle of life by reaping thousands of lives, dealing death with mine own teeth and nails as nature intended. Letting a cow take billions of lives that I may take one seems cowardly.
And, in a follow up to that incident, one of my fellow diners, who had voiced his discomfort with that scenario, later attended a cookout at our place. I served him a hamburger, in the manner in which I cook them. He requested something a bit gamier. I asked if perhaps he should consider eating it the way I prepared it. I reminded him of the Williamsburg incident. He narrowed his eyes, and felt that was off-base and arrogant on my part. It was, in the words of The Duke Of Transparency, a teachable moment.
My Grandfather had a keg of Michelob (the good stuff!) in an old refrigerator that had a tap on the side of it in his basement. I can remember him putting a dash of salt in his beer. I have no idea why.
When I was about 15 or so some relatives, who had been living in Florida, moved home to Ohio. In honor of this, my Dad grilled steaks to a perfect medium rare, onto which my Florida cousin (also about 15) liberally poured ketchup. My dad’s face turned multiple shades of red and he proceeded to take back the steak and told my cousin that’s not how we do it around here! He made him a hot dog and told him he could eat that if wants ketchup on meat.
“Why am I not surprised pen is a grass eater.”
I have a companion in the field my 5th wheel is parked in. About 3/4 of a ton of poorly gelded horse. He eats grass and all the apples and carrots he can bully me out of. He is my dear friend, mostly, and a great deal of fun. ;)
I have been a Buddhist for over 50 years as well. I chose not to take a life, well not a higher form of one, so I do not need to kill to live. As I’m nearly 70 and still wander my mountains and lift my silly weights I am in considerably better shape than any the other old men I know and in better shape than many younger people I know. Part of this is because my system is not challenged by the rather scary set of things you find in the meat, you so love.
Just watched an interview of Trump’s former butler (20 years) and it seems Donald doesn’t drink coffee or alcohol. His beverage of choice is (can one believe it?) “Diet Coke”.
I told the waiter it was bad and he argued with me !
A friend got the wrong shirt back from the dry cleaner. The sleeves were grossly short, it was obviously someone else’s. He took it back and the dry cleaning guy argued with him and tried to convince him that it really was his shirt. I think we’ve all had a few experiences where someone brazenly tried to convince us that black was white or a duck was a dog or whatever. It doesn’t seem to make sense that people would behave like that, but sometimes they do, so it must work often enough. Confidence is convincing and extreme confidence can sometimes override obvious contradictory facts. We notice the absurd instances when this tactic fails, but perhaps not often enough more subtle ones when it succeeds. Trump and Hillary both seem to understand this aspect of human nature.
The Trump picture on Drudge this afternoon: Do the less young amongest the readers recall the comic strip “Dennis the Menace” and wonder what he looked like when he grew up?
http://www.drudgereport.com/
“well not a higher form of one”
Don’t tell me you swat mosquitoes !
You’ll probably come back as a mosquito.
Serve you right for such cruelty.