I’ve just put a frozen, vacuum sealed New York Strip steak in a plastic container of water with a big metal thingie in it designed to maintain temperature, set to 134.5. It’s my first sous vide steak. Granted, the stuff was a bit dear as far as the vacuum sealer (Birthday Present) and the sous vide cooker thingie itself (not to mention the fact that I got a container with a custom lid with the right-shaped hole in it for far too much money.) BUT it all came down to doing this today.
When you look at sous vide cooked steaks (and I get the distinct impression that this is a cooking style designed not for haute cuisine so much as cooking large quantities of pre-packaged ingredients for things like restaurants) they’re the most succulent, perfectly cooked pieces of meat you’ve ever seen. Check out reddit.com/r/sousvide to see what I mean.
You use this thingie to bring the meat up to a precise temperature (in this case 134.5.) Then you heat up a cast iron pan and sear it afterwards. So, as long as I don’t actually set off the fire alarm (which I literally did while boiling water a couple weeks ago, go me.)
But much like crock pot cooking, this takes hours. So I’ve had to snack on some bacon in the meantime.
That aside, I’m watching the clock with a case of the Sunday Blues (I know, shut up.) Heading to Pennsylvania, Jersey, and upstate NY for 8 or so days was really intoxicating. Even the rest stops on the highway up there feel like home. There are mountains and forests, my kind of asshole drivers (as opposed to Tennessee asshole drivers, who aren’t assholes so much as completely fucking incompetent.)
Sure, maybe it was just 46 years of familiarity, having lived within about 100 mile range my whole life. But it never occurred to me until this trip that…well…maybe not. Sadly (for you, for now) further introspection on that just gets weird as shit and starts sounding like the me of 25 years ago.
And maybe it’s job dissatisfaction or the fact that I haven’t really made much of an attempt to make friends down here (A big part of me just doesn’t see the damn point, really) so I don’t have the roots that I should (a circular argument if you think about it at all.)
All this is nothing compared to the response I got when I walked into my old office, a year and a half later to squeals that ranked smack dab between “OMG A PUPPY!” and “OMG A BABY!” I got to distribute home made alcohol, the odd business card, flirt with their sharp cute new girl (srsly. Almost enough to make me want to work there again. But not quite because those people are nucking futs.)
So we’ll see. I get the distinct impression that a lot of this went in to my head and is being rolled over and digested like some trivia question whose answer can’t be extracted from my mind by force of will. It will be interesting to see how it bubbles up, which I have absolutely no doubt it will.
In the meantime, I’ve got to watch the clock for 2 hours and 45 minutes until I can even finish cooking the steak.
I wonder how hard it would be to make home-made root beer. I’ll bet that’d go great with a steak…