Beast is usually what’s not for dinner at my table. In fact, it was deemed ‘beast’ by my head of household, pescatarian mother during early childhood. I would eat red meat on occasion at extended family meals, but for the most part, steered clear purely out of lack of interest.
The same goes for my adult life. My non-fish meat eating is infrequent; however, my interest level tends to peak when I’m feeling self indulgent. Needless to say, a fat filet was on my brain upon returning home after a month of traveling madness.
I filled Katie in on dinner details, letting her know I had purchased everything but her cut. Luckily she was in charge of her own dinner fate because, as a filet girl, I would have never walked out with a gynormo ribeye. I don’t even know what that means.
I sprinkled each steak with garlic salt and pepper and tossed them in the oven. While they were broiling, I melted butter and added garlic and sliced baby bellas. When the shrooms were looking all sad and wilted, I added a couple handfuls of baby spinach leaves to join in the wilting action.
By the time the veggies were finished, the steaks were ready to be flipped. Katie hovered in excitement while sampling the gorgonzola that would soon be oh so melty goodness.
We gawked, for a solid moment, in a way that only melted cheese can bring about. And as soon as we took our first bite, our first sips of red, we sped through a month’s worth of catch-up gossip. My first Tampa home cooked meal was indulgently satisfying, both cuisinly and socially, just as I had hoped.