red meat

A confession: I love pig. We had ribs last night, and I get cranky when I get to Whole Foods too late on a Saturday morning to snare a bacon-studded breakfast burrito.

In fact, I love meat, period. All animals, most cuts (I can't think of one I've tried that I've not liked, not offhand. Yes, I like kidneys and liver). I cook it, I eat it. I am real about where it comes from.

Having said that, though, I recognize two things:

- my body honestly can't process it as well as I thought, or as well as it used to. A big bunch of red meat for dinner leaves me in a torpor later, and I recall a night in a hotel in Cleveland where the meat sweats set in. Of course, I usually have red wine with red meat, and perhaps the added effect of wine doesn't help. Red meat, pork aside, is not something we eat a lot in our home anymore.

- there is an increasing ethical and environmental consideration that I haven't given enough thought to. Where does the meat come from, how was it raised? Those questions and others are even more relevant nowadays (well, actually, they should never have been irrelevant), and I find myself thinking of them a little more now. It's funny, because I have thought that way about seafood for a longer time. Things I need to pursue and explore further.

Having said all that, it was a steak for me tonight. A New York strip loin. I refuse to feel guilty. As I said, red meat is a rare thing at home now - I haven't cooked lamb in weeks, in fact - so this once, it made for a nice dinner alone while Conrad was at a professional function.



Leftover pea puree, blanched rapini, a big piece of red meat. What you see on the plate is half the steak. I may just slice it cold for tomorrow and use in a salad for dinner. I seared the steak and finished it in a hot oven. I won't claim to be the best cook of chunks of red meat like that (braises are my thing, I think), but it fed me well indeed.