Stacey and I went to my parents this weekend which means at least one thing.... STEAK.
I think my parents eat more steak than any other family I know. They recently bought fifty steaks at one shot for the back freezer.... FIFTY!!! Rib-eyes, New York Strips, T-bones you name it and it's sitting in the freezer. Any way, we went over to see them and of course we're cooking (usually over-cooking) the steaks on grill in the back. Stacey is floating in the pool with my mom, my dad is sitting on a chair next to me. The sun is beating down on us but not in an uncomfortable way. It really was a great afternoon until....
I walk over to the grill, planning on turning my steak after the prescribed four minutes or so (for meduim) when I see from the bottom edge of the grill the evil flames. I'm thinking, "boy there must be a flare up." Upon opening the grill I find no flare up, no, I find every steak engulfed in the mockingly joyful dance of orange flames. The steaks were more than flame kissed. If that was a kiss it was a shockingly big, wet and sloppy one. The steaks were toast, but only on one side. Dad braves the flames to turn the meat if only to slightly toast the other side after the flames had died down. Nothing however saved them. They were black and chared and grilled so far past medium so that I thought they had been substituted for shoe leather... :( Stacey and I ate our steaks while listening to my uncle, "Y'know for the char these arn't to bad..." Oh well, que sira.
