Steak Night

Steak Night was a weekly event of food-coma inducing, carnivorous gluttony. What began as a tribal ritual and rite of passage evolved into a weekly celebration of food and friendship that lasts to this day. (Albeit Steak Night is celebrated with less frequency and fanfare).

Steak Night began after college when my (then) roommate and I decided to host the weekly gathering of Sunday evening TV watching; the Simpsons and Sopranos. My roommate had the genius idea of christening our new bachelor pad with a cookout. The thought of grilled meat amongst male friends triggered a primal urge and a little testosterone filled bravado. Already a regular at Findlay Market I embarked on a quest for cuts of meat to put our friends to shame. Little did I know Phil, owner of Mackie Meats, would cut such great custom steaks they would trigger a red meat arms race.

Everyone arrived for the first week with traditional fare of hotdogs and hamburgers. After their prepackaged, almost "normal" sized portions started roasting on the grill, my roommate and I pulled out marinating steaks and quietly placed them over the heat. Weighing in at well over one pound each these monsters made the hotdogs and hamburgers look like finger food. Next diced potatoes and onions wrapped in foil took the edges like the Lakota and Cheyenne surrounding Custer at Little Big Horn. There was no need to speak. The protein gauntlet had been thrown down.

Over the coming weeks the size and cuts of the various steaks came in at comic proportions. Soon a second grill was required as porterhouses, strips and ribeyes emerged larger than from any steakhouse. The attack on our colons didn't stop with the main dish. I would come to perfect one of the greatest side dishes of all times known simply as Dave's Home Fries.

Home Fries contained the usual suspects you'd find in a greasy spoon concoction: potatoes, onions and peppers. But that's where the similarity ends. I added a pound each of bacon and goetta followed by cheese, sour cream, seasoning and hot sauce. (Goetta is similar to a ground sausage, for all the non-Cincinnatians). Not wanting to waste any of the piggy goodness I added the hot sauce to the reserved bacon grease sending plumes of noxious smoke into the kitchen; kitchen napalm. I then caramelized the onions in the molten grease adding a distinct kick to the delectable dish.

(A law enforcement friend of mine scoffed when I recommended he leave the kitchen prior to the hot sauce dousing. I dropped a few drops of hot sauce into the hot bacon grease and with much bravado he inhaled deeply. Within moments he ran for the door and fresh air. Apparently my kitchen on a random Sunday was worse than police pepper spray training).

Not content with the amount of meat on our plates we added slow cooked baby back ribs to the ensemble. All of this garnished with a token vegetable; often fresh broccoli or asparagus. Bringing our standard plate to contain: steak, ribs, home fries (with bacon and goetta) and a veggie. All of this before various appetizers and side dishes which changed weekly. Our spread quickly grew larger than most families' Thanksgiving dinners.

Rumors of this feast traveled quickly and even mild acquaintances were asking to partake; their mouths watering at the thought of this weekly carnage. Our local watering hole's Sunday night crowd began to diminish since all the regulars were in our living room. However ground rules were quickly established: Guys only (although that rule was shortly broken with the help of my then roommate's now wife), bring a side dish or appetizer and for Steak Night virgins: a single steak of red meat weighing it at no less than one pound.

Before you get sick at the thought of this gastro-punishment it is important to note that all this food didn't have to be consumed in one sitting. Just that it must be prepared that evening. Truth is, the leftovers would last us a week.

Over time testosterone levels dropped and our culinary skills grew. Steak Night evolved into a weekly gathering of friends sharing our lives over great food. It was more than a ritual. More than a foodie feast. More than a social occasion. More than a bare knuckled digestive brawl. Our humble weekly feast helped friends through breakups, divorce and unemployment. We celebrated the triumps of new jobs, first cars and new loves. The bonds formed over those years are close ties still kept today.

Unfortunately, Steak Night has forever tainted every steak I order in a restaurant. I honestly rarely try anymore. My family stopped taking me to great steak houses since I'd end up ordering the fish or chicken. I don't know if it's because I've mastered the art of grilling steak; no chef can ever cook one to my liking. Or maybe it's that food always tastes better when you prepare it with friends.