Category: Observations

Once something becomes popular, it becomes expensive.  I suppose we could attribute that to supply and demand, but it’s so damned annoying when it’s something that I like.  That, and the innate desire to remain mysteriously cool by shunting popular culture becomes suddenly threatened.  I hate when things deflate my ego.

So it was that obscure beef cuts are experiencing a revival.  I was once privy to this inner circle of carnal knowledge (pun), due to chance employment in a butcher shop.  I wielded steel with all the finesse of a ballet dancer, partitioning select cuts in a choreographed display of sensual manual dexterity.  The deft motions of my fingers as they expertly performed their precise maneuvers drew crowds of young women from the cashier’s station, to stare, transfixed with burgeoning lust at the perfected model of masculinity at work.  And that’s how I met my wife.

And that story is totally true, probably.  If it happened the way I remember it anyway.

But where was I?  Ah yes, the super-secret knowledge of steak.  Of the more unusual cuts that the elder butchers would put out in the case, that no one ever bought because no one knew what they were, were the tri-tip and the parachute roast.  As most meat ships from the slaughterhouses already partially sectioned, I never saw a whole steer.  We would get regular shipments of half-steers, but never the whole.  This is because it’d be terribly inefficient to butcher an entire steer without splitting it.  I mention this because, in this process, a section of the diaphragm is lost.  And in this section resided the elusive “butcher’s steak”, or the hanger steak.  Yet since it was mentioned to me, and since I never saw one, it built in my mind a certain mystique.  One day, I would try one.

Since those days, numerous articles had popped up extolling the taste and value of such underrated cuts.  The hanger steak was among them, and so with the forgotten now being popular knowledge, the mystique died.

Then we visited Dayton’s 2nd Street Market, and a stand (locally-sourced beef) was selling them.  $10 a pound was probably too much, but I had to honor a past promise to myself.  So I bought it.

And as is with the allure of waiting for anything, the hype surpassed the experience, though it was not disappointing.  To sum it up, the steak was as tender as any rib/loin cut, although it lacked the fatty flavor of the latter.  But, it had a good beefy flavor despite the lack of marbling.  I would choose it over anything off the chuck and sirloin, but had I the choice, I’d choose the ribeye.

So if you find one, as long as it’s cheaper than a N.Y. strip, it’s worth the cost.

And if you’re good, cutting out that center strip of silver might draw the lustful gaze of your lady.

–Simon

Poppy just wants a friend, but Faye is old and hurting and dying.  Consequently, she does not appreciate being bitten by an instigating youngin.  Fortunately, the neighbors have their little hound who is causing the same problems amongst their pack.  So we combined the two into a furry vortex.

Twitterpated whippets.

–Simon

Remember those old Disney movies with the sentient Volkswagen?  It was a fun take on our tendency as a species to anthropomorphize our vehicles.  And as a kid with few friends, I found the idea of being besties with a car to be a very reasonable movie premise.  So it was that my favorite in the series became Herbie Goes Bananas.  It involved a Hispanic orphan who gets into wacky adventures with the car, culminating in them foiling a plot to steal Aztec gold by a gang of enterprising bandits.  That touch of Indiana Jones in the story must have really taken me in.

Anyway, another individual with a goofy sense of humor must have found meaning in these films too, for we witnessed this in the parking lot during a Target run:

Not exactly a Volkswagen, but no matter.  See you around, Ocho.

–Simon

Dogs can be clever when the need arises, though certainly some exhibit this more than others.

Whippets are not winter dogs.  Their short hair and predilection for cuddling conditions them for warm and comfortable environments, and the bitter cold of February simply does not meet these requirements.  In the past, the whippets have simply burrowed deep into blankets and cushions, at times even becoming invisible to the unsuspecting human who wishes to sit upon the couch (resulting in a rather canine-sounding whoopie cushion).  But Poppy took a novel approach, and actively sought ambient heat, apparently not content to merely preserve her own.  It seems like an obvious solution for a dog, but I find it awfully darned funny.

I later found the thermostat cranked up to 90, although I didn’t catch her in the act, so blame seems to point elsewhere.  It would seem that the whippet’s ingenuity is just one example of an inter-species female desperation for heat.

The thermostat will stay at 64!

–Simon