Steak Enthusiast

We cooked so much this weekend we are swimming in leftovers.

Steakburgers. Bratwurst. More steakburgers. Hot dogs.

When will it all end?

My husband LOVES leftovers so he’s in heaven. But me? Eh, I really like it best when it’s first cooked. I’m elitist that way.

Right now, I can hear my parents’ voices echoing in my ears . . . “There are children starving in China or is it Ethiopia or wait, no, it’s Myanmar where the government won’t hand out the food we are sending . . . ”

Anyway, I should be so lucky to have an abundance of food. So I will smile and eat a leftover steakburger for the FOURTH time this week.

But THAT’S IT. Then I’m moving on to a fresh T-bone, dangit!

So, a couple of weeks ago my son’s kindergarten class was studying “mothers.” It was around the time of Mother’s Day and they did a few projects on the topic.

I was presented with some of these projects that will forever be in my keepsake box. They brought tears to my eyes. But others were just haphazardly sent home in his folder last week.

I went through them and came across one — a stapled project entitled “My Mom.”

Page 3 of “My Mom” was very, very telling.

That’s me. And apparently, I eat “stake” a lot. In one piece. With no utensils. And no hands.

My husband so lovingly yelled, “Look at your pie-hole! It’s huge!”

(This was out of earshot of my son, mind you.)

The kid pays attention. I have to give him that. And that rendering of a steak is pretty good for a 5-year-old boy. I was actually quite proud when I stopped thinking about how it made me look like a great big pig.

The drawing looks surprisingly like one of my favorite pieces I studied in art class by artist Edvard Munch. It’s called “The Scream.”

I’m just sayin’. . . the kid’s perceptive AND a talented artist.

An old Saturday Night Live reference. Perhaps I’m showing my age.

We broke in the new grill over the weekend. Buying it was an emergency — we had to replace the deceased Weber before Memorial Day weekend a.k.a. the Holy Grail of Grilling Times.

We decided on some steakburgers to break that baby in and she didn’t disappoint.

After the meat was almost finished grilling we threw on some good ole American cheese to gently melt and voila!

Cheebugahs!

Yum!

I don’t like to mess mine all up with a bun. I’m a purist.

But my husband likes his buns toasted. (Insert your own “toasty buns” joke here.) 

With food like this and amazingly original wit and humor flying (see above) how could we NOT have a great holiday weekend?