A few weeks ago, I got a text from a certain friend inviting me over for dinner. He said he had some great grass fed beef that he was going to cook up. Alas I could not attend, so I was super excited to get a very similar text from him a week or two later: “got some aged ribeyes. come on over.” Yes! Fantastic. I could make it. As you might have guessed, these were the same steaks. Leftovers. At least 10 days in the fridge in a ziplock bag just sitting there with garlic, sage, and probably seasoned already. Bastard probably hadn’t bothered to look at it, never mind smell it before he (graciously) invited me over. But against the odds the steak looked nice and clean and smelled great. It was about an inch and a half thick, great marbling…really good looking steak. It had some funk to it, but good funk, dry aged funk. I let it sit out for a half hour, seasoned it really well, seared it, gave it 5 minutes in a 400 degree oven, basted it with butter for a bit, then let it rest for 20 and sliced it. And it was beautiful. It tasted a bit like it had been sitting in a ziplock with garlic and sage for a week and change, but the fat was sweet, the meat was soft, it took the seasoning well, all this other stuff….it was a delicious hunk of dead cow.

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We had some kale, beet tops, spinach, and wilted them all together in beef fat. Very good. I definitely got a kick out of the way the plate got attacked. It started as a single big mound and everyone was eating with their hands standing around the counter, and it just turned into a fish as if the universe or some aliens were trying to tell us something. Not sure what, but maybe it…..means something.

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