Beef as a Sport

Not my illustrative picture.

If eating were a sport, then we would have done our best tonight in exhibiting our talents in that arena.

We is defined as another couple, Kris, and me, all on a double date to the Brazilian steakhouse in Indy.

First the salad bar looks nothing like the salad bar at any of the restaurants around here. Heart of palm? Basil dressing? Prosciutto and smoked salmon? Roast zucchini? Quite different from the iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and cheddar sprinkle cheese you find more often in our little town.

Even before the tantalizing salad bar, we tasted the cheese bread that came out, very egg-y in texture; like a puff.

While we feasted on that first portion of the meal, a used car salesman came around selling us on the beautiful slabs of marbled ribeye just waiting for the discerning customer who knows pampered beef when he sees it. This beef was raised on classical music and organic greens, with nightly massages and pedicures, to ensure the best possible slabs of meat.

He must have died happy and in a spa-like slaughterhouse; the beef was most definitely many grades above the shabby little steaks from a normal grocery store in our little town.

We let the used car salesman separate someone else from their money--which he succeeded in doing with the next table over from us. When the chef came out with their meat and placed it on the hot stones, the entire room was watching--politely, of course. Not ogling, but being very alert and making sure the eyes passed to that corner of the room frequently to take in the sights, but not rest so long on one subject as to be rude.

Our table engaged in the meat sports of the more regular sort. Waiters came around with mouthwatering cuts of all sorts of meat stabbed onto a sword, or what looks like a sword. They would cut off bits for us to try: lemon garlic chicken, Parmesan pork, bacon-wrapped sirloin, normal sirloin, filet mignon, lamb roast, lamb chops, bacon-wrapped chicken, garlic chicken legs, sausage.

They kept our table filled with chive-topped mashed potatoes, roast bananas, and fried polenta.

The best side that popped up was the fried mozzarella with honey. It tastes like food straight from Heaven's kitchen. I keep wondering how to do that at home, but I can't figure out past dipping the kids' cheese sticks in honey. Doesn't have quite the same appeal as tonight's treat.

Kris and our friends had shrimp and cocktail sauce. They say it was great, and I'm just taking their word for it. I wasn't going to fill any space in my belly tonight with food I detest. Let them have the sea bugs.

There was absolutely no room for dessert, and by the time we were done laying waste to plates of food, our tablecloth looked exactly as we would have expected if our children had been present in body, absent in manners. We all used proper manners, but this was just a slop-fest tonight with the nature of the meal.

So, now we're all back home, nestled snug in our beds, and filled up on food for the next 3 days.

And we can't wait to take the carnivorous boys in both our families to partake in the meat treat that is the Brazilian steakhouse.

Not my picture; very distinctive facade.