The book my daughter takes to school
Like every family, we’ve had our food battles with our 10-year-old daughter. With great dismay, we watched a pre-schooler who amazed us with the range of her palate (she couldn’t get enough Altoids or wasabe peas) to a bratty pre-teen who turned dinner into a slugfest with her littany of foods she refused to eat.
“What’s for dinner?” was no longer an innocent question, but the ominous opening line of our nightly culinary Donnybrook.
So I can’t really complain that daughter has found a food she is absolutely wild for, and something her parents also love. Turns out she’s got Tiffany taste. Her new favorite food is steak.
We’ve been trying to teach our daughter to lay off the sugar and also the refined carbohydrates. She would eat pasta three times a day if she could. In our house, we try to focus more on proteins and green vegetables. Now daughter wants steak for dinner every night.
She’s become a real pest about it. “I want steak,” she announces nightly. “Steak, steak, steak, steak, steak.” On our Sunday walks home from the farmers market, we usually stop by the local Whole Foods. These days daughter stands in front of the meat counter and stares. In the condensation on the glass she writes “Leila was here” where a stack of thick ribeyes is displayed. She loves ribeye, the fattier the better.
Coincidentally, I ran across a newly published book called, aptly enough, “Steak: One Man’s Search for the Tastiest Piece of Beef.” I ordered a copy from Amazon thinking we could make a bedtime reading project out it. But when the book arrived, daughter grabbed it out of my hand. She put it in her backpack and took it to school. (”Oh, you mean you are reading a book that literally is called ‘Steak,’ ” her fifth-grade teacher reportedly remarked.)
We get most of our meat delivered from our local dairy, where a herd of beef cattle is raised on pasture. This week I promised daughter a steak and ordered a sirloin that was on sale. She pitched a fit because it wasn’t ribeye. According to her new book, she said, sirloin was listed last for flavor, way behind ribeye. How could I be so stupid as to order sirloin?
I cooked the sirloin anyway–but of course I can’t prepare daughter’s steak any old way. She insists I grill it over live coals. When I brought the finished steak to the kitchen–a thing of beauty, perfectly browned–she gave it a good, long looking over and declared it didn’t have enough fat. I cut a slice. It was rare, just the way we like it, and obviously grassfed with its deep hue.
Daughter tasted. Daughter chewed. Daughter smiled.
She liked it. And who wouldn’t? The flavor was intense, even from this humble sirloin. If only there were more fat, daughter moaned, as she bit into another slice.
Things could be worse. I think of all the other things a daughter could be addicted to: drugs, sex, texting. Steak doesn’t seem so bad. But this could be a very expensive habit. If daughter wants ribeye for dinner every night, she’s going to have to start saving her allowance.
