My Valentine's Evening Was Better Than Yours

Any grandmothers or easily offended persons ought to go ahead and head over to YouTube and start searching for "pug puppies." It's just better this way because I'm going to upset you otherwise. Also, colorful language alert! If you don't know what that means you're also probably going to be offended by this post.




So yesterday was Valentine's Day.

Being a person who gives no shits about being in a relationship, I continued my tradition of cooking a really delicious meal and drinking copious amounts of wine, sans Valentine. I watched Criminal Minds (because what isn't romantic about a guy cutting off a girl's lips and putting them on his dead mother's corpse?) and I ate lots of chocolate. Feel free to tell me at any time how this picture could have been improved by a romantic companion. It couldn't have. Well…fine, no, no, I know what you're going to say, and yes, I suppose that could have improved things, but that involves all kinds of leg work—cleaning my room, putting on fresh sheets, shaving my legs, buying and cooking two steaks instead of just the one, I'd probably would have had to get a gift of some sort, plus a card that explained my feelings just so, it's just a lot of effort to put into that. Again, filing all of that under reasons why my Valentine's evening was better than those who had a Valentine.


I digress. Sort of, that's generally something I'm not known for.


So I made dinner for myself and it was delicious and terribly unhealthy. Paula Deen would have been so proud of me.

I made my "Dirty Girl Steak," along with a baked sweet potato, accompanied by lots of Flip Flop's Cabernet Sauvignon.

The steak was so delicious I had to brag to the world of social media, and in doing so, I caught the attention of a few people who wanted the recipe. Being a couple glasses in, (and by glasses I mean blue Solo cups,) I tweeted my recipe in a fashion that pretty much cements my future in the culinary world.



"Filthy Fucking Recipe for my Dirty Girl Steak:


Enough brown sugar until you think you have enough, enough McCormick's Montreal Steak seasoning until it's enough. Rub on steak. Massage steak--it's had a hard day. Rub the tension out of it. Let it rest for an hour. Melt a stick of butter. Dice 3 cloves of garlic. Heat pan to med-low (about 3 out of 9.) Introduce butter and garlic. Let the butter and garlic make friends--let the garlic get golden. Salt and pepper the garlic while it's in f$%king butter. Let the steak make sweet, sweet love to the melted butter and golden garlic for 10 minutes—don't interrupt their time together. DON'T. Flip steak when it's browned about a 1/3 of the way up. Let it f%#king cook for another 5 minutes, spoon butter and garlic over steak. Don't let the garlic burn. Keep it cooking for another 3 or 4min, depending on how you like your steak. Put on plate, pour butter and garlic onto steak, put in mouth."



Clearly my career path is set, and yes, that all went out to the world of social media. And they are all waiting for my cookbook.

 In all seriousness, the steak was probably lightly poached by cooking in that much butter and at that low a temperature. The result was a really nice texture—the meat and the fat practically melted into each other, and if you know my tastes, you know I can't stand fatty meat, but this time I really didn't care, it was that good. The garlic got crisp and the caramel-y crust that the brown sugar and Montreal seasoning created this really amazing, chewy, crunchy feel. The sweet potato was a lovely side with its salt, pepper, butter and brown sugar (seeing a theme here? It's called "tying together the meal." I think Sandra Lee taught me or something…). I must say though, the sweet potato, while tasty, was hardly needed. Not with that steak. The steak was the star. The foodgasm was everything I needed.

I'm sorry Grandma(s) if you've continued to read this. I did warn you though. And maybe I should apologize to my parents. Maybe. They shouldn't be surprised. In any case, here's a picture of a pug puppy in pajamas to make it better.

Sorry.