So how much truth do you want? How much truth can you handle? Would it surprise you to learn that your lump of meat will get double dipped between the chef’s balls, have a Fukushima awakening in the science-oven then hot-potato’ed past the pot wash to the waiter before delivery back under your fork? Maybe. But unlikely.
There will undoubtedly be some choice words muttered that further flavour your steak but it’s not that exciting because you’re not that important. Ho-hum. Such is life.
You sent it back because it's a bit pink? That’s right. Too much pink meant its back – it’s pink and not grey. If it were pink but not pink enough it probably wouldn't be back. If it were slightly too pink but not quite your preferred shade of pink, you'd suck it up. But you sent it back ‘cos it's not grey. Grey is boring. If the chicken were as dry as you want your steak, you'd send it back. Get me?
Anyway, it's not how you want this species cooked. Fine. You want it grey but not dry. You want a juicier version of what it would be if it were grey inside? Well, I want a nice hot bath without my toes wrinkling, but we all know that's not how it works.
Nowadays things are changing. The menu will state how the meat will be served. The duck is pink, the lamb is medium rare, and the steak is.... how the fucking chef wants to give it to you. Chef writes the menu so chef dictates how the dish will be served.
In times gone by It was far easier to whisper ‘medium well' in your server’s ear than for a menu to tell you that you have no choice. If that upsets you then think of chef deciding how meat is cooked as a hipster way of saying, ‘Choose something else tosser.’
If you still insist on being served a slow-roasted cut of prime cow after reading this then you'll get exactly what you deserve, which is chef rubbing your meat on his scrotum before sentencing it to the microwave.
Bon appétit.
pic credits: Emerson Vieira and Justus Menke
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