The first time I served a steak to someone else, I was a couple weeks shy of my 13th birthday. A year earlier, while still 11, I got hired by the local Moose Lodge to be their Friday night dishwasher, when the members gathered for cocktails, grilled steaks and breaded, deep-fried fish, which was either catfish or halibut.
How I got that job, and ended up cooking for others at such a young age, is like a lot of life: it was unplanned, and just happened.
I was shooting hoops at the Boys Club when am man walked into the gym and bellowed: “Would anyone like to make ten bucks for two hours of work?”
There were only nine or 10 of us in the gym that night, with six guys playing a 3-on-3 half-court match and the rest of us practicing free throws or playing horse. I looked around, and when no one else raised their hand, I did.
Big Dave yelled, “Great, let’s go in and see Mike, and call your parents.”
Mike Bonner was one of the gym managers and apparently this fellow from the Moose Lodge, Dave, used the club to recruit dishwashers periodically, as most of the kids usually just did it for a couple months, then quit.
I was a budding entrepreneur since I was 10, mowing lawns, washing cars, helping neighbors clear out their garages, that sort of thing, and $10 for two hours of work was the equivalent of a massive pay raise. Bear in mind, in 1970 the minimum wage was $1.45 per hour, this night happened in December of 1969.
Once we were in Mike’s office, Dave asked Mike to call my parents, since he knew my father, who would drive me to the Boys Club, drop me off, then come and get me a couple hours later.
Dave asked me my name, and when Mike reached my dad and said hello, he then handed the phone over to Dave. Dave said to my dad: “Mr. Marsh, this is Dave from the Moose Lodge. We need a dishwasher for tonight’s grill and fish fry, and your son volunteered for the job. I’d like your permission to take him to the club and put him to work.
My father readily agreed and also to swing by the Moose Lodge around 9 p.m., as Dave promised him that I would be done by then.
I kept that job until my junior year in high school, some five years later.
The Moose Lodge cooks were themselves members of the Lodge. Big Dave was a dentist, and enjoyed his cocktails. His sidekick, Bill, was an accountant, and smoked cigarettes. The two men worked shoulder-to-shoulder during prime dinner time, from about 6 pm. to 7 pm., but otherwise took breaks to go out to the lounge and drink and smoke with their friends. Often, one of them would stay in the kitchen to manage orders as they trickled in. Toward the end of those Friday nights, it was common for both of them to be in the lounge.
At first, when a late-night order came in, one of them would return to the kitchen and make the meal – or two, for the members. After I had been there for many months, however, Dave started teaching me how to grill a steak, and how long the fish had to be in the fryer, as well as how to drop a fresh basket of fries.
I would be in the kitchen by myself, cleaning up cutlery, cutting boards, dishes, pots and pans, and suddenly I would hear Dave boom from the lounge: “Order up!”
And that’s how I ended up serving my first meal of grilled steak and fried fish with a side of fries to a grown up.
Fast-forward to the present, and readers to this blog know my strong preference for Snake River steaks, particularly, New Yorks and Ribeye’s, though lately I’ve been doing a stove-top, pan-seared Filet Mignon for a wicked-good Asian meal with jasmine rice and a large side of mixed vegetables (Bok choy, celery, red onion) fried with a light amount of sesame oil, sunflower oil, a few drops of fish sauce, a generous spoon of chili garlic sauce and finished with a nice sprinkling of ponzu sauce.
For food adventures, friends and family have joined me for some memorable meals at some of America’s best steak houses. Benjamin Steak House on 41 Street in New York, and Jeff Ruby’s Steakhouse in Cincinnati, come to mind.
But my recent Chicago steak house experience?
I have to stop embarrassing myself in restaurants, which also aggravates my partner – and no doubt embarrasses her, too. It’s not the usual thing about poor restaurant behavior – i.e., public intoxication. Rather, it’s my food snob snobbery and asshole attitude when things go awry.
The recent episode in Chicago has set my resolve to either, A. not go to certain restaurants where my disappointed is assured, if not guaranteed; B. go to the restaurant and order something that won’t disappoint me; or C. go to the restaurant, adjust my attitude, that it’s about the company etc. and don’t complain about the food.
The incident in Chicago, at one of the city’s most popular steak houses, for example, I could have ordered the Chilean Sea Bass, which is pretty much good anywhere. But no, we were there for the steak.
After careful consideration, we settled on the St. Louis cut – a bone-in New York strip.
It was cooked perfectly medium, medium rare, the way we like it. But it was flavorless, and dry.
I don’t remember which wine I ordered because my behavior after the first few bites of steak blurred the rest of the night.
When the server – who was very engaging, cheerful and could not have been nicer, came around to ask how the steaks were, I looked at him without any sort of facial expression or projection, and said without menace. “It’s dog food.”
Taken aback, the server said: “What?”
“It’s dog food,” I said again.
The server and manager swung in to action to resolve the matter and cooked a fresh, different cut of steak. They even swept away the sides to bring fresh sides with the fresh steak (asparagus, mushrooms, and probably the best onion rings in the world).
And they brought me a fresh martini, on the house, which was ice cold and filled to the brim flipping perfect.
Seeing the expression on my partner made me remorseful. The night had started so pleasantly, and here I was, acting The Dick!
The second round of steaks and sides were more or less the same, and I acted like the meat was much improved. When I settled the bill, I left a ridiculously large tip.
So, there you have my resolve and resolution for future dining in American cities.
Meanwhile, back home a couple weeks later, I marinated a wonderfully affordable cut of beef, skirt steak (pictured above).
This meat is tender and full of flavor!
The marinade
In a large casserole dish, add:
- Enough good olive oil to nearly cover the entire bottom
- Sprinkle garlic powder evenly throughout
- Black pepper, the same
- Fish sauce – add drops here and there throughout the dish
- Terriyaki marinade sauce, the same.
- Lemon – squeeze the juice of one lemon, throughout
- Salt each side of meat before laying them into the casserole dish, and turn them over
- Cover tight with plastic wrap and refrigerate over night
- Remove them from fridge the next morning, and turn them over in the sauce, cover and refrigerate again
- Remove them from the fridge 2-3 hours before cooking
- Pat dry with paper towel, but don’t dry them all the way.
I’ve cooked this inside on a hot steel skillet and they are good, but not as good as grilled on my Weber, with charcoal.
Once grilled, let the steaks rest for 10 minutes, cover them loosely with foil, then (using kitchen scissors), cut them along the grain into half-inch to three-quarter inch slices, serve.
Serve with sides of your choice, though roasted potatoes, asparagus and mushrooms for mushroom lovers makes for a fine meal.
Wine: Merlot, Zin or Cab of your liking!