Meat Trip

One of the few things that Veronica and I have been passingly fighting about over the last several years is the fact that she has gone to SEVERAL all you can eat meat places without me.  Normally she tries to come up with an excuse after, like I wasn’t in the same state, that someone else took her, or something else she tries to consider “valid.” But the truth is it all sounds hallow and I am pretty sure that she just thought that I would make a giant fool of myself and possibly end up dying.  Well the joke is on her, because after three years of constantly wearing her down I finally got her to go with me – the same tactic that worked to get her to marry me.

One of the first things that I should point out is that approaching the meat mecca is that it smells like pig roast, which is probably the highest praise that you can give something.  Also, it is just part of the mall, which is kind of weird because it is sort of a higher class joint and not along the same lines of Auntie Anne’s or Hooters. Veronica thought it was interesting because the walls were glass panes that had slits between them that you could slip meat to the people outside.  I commented that someone might be able to let her sip out of some of their Orange Julius, she said that we should go there for after dinner treats. I love her but good judgment isn’t always strong with her.

Part of the package is a “salad” bar.  I use the quotes the same way that people probably used them when they first started calling it a bar.  I am sure that there were several vegetables that you could find if you looked, but I am pretty sure those are just there so they know who to ask to leave.  From my picture I can tell you I grabbed sushi, which I would never do again, the salmon, which was forgettable but good, the shrimp salad, which was a weird deathtrap designed by an evil science PhD candidate, and several kinds of amazing salted meats.

Side note:  Veronica and I have been trying to cut way back on salt intake for various reasons.  At the start of the evening I basically told her that bringing that up was going to defeat the entire purpose of being here.  She was kind enough to listen.

There is a temperature that I use to describe food called “Veronica hot,” which roughly translates to, “burns the flesh off the inside of your mouth, OMG HOW DO YOU EAT THIS BABE!”  This is important because all food in the world needs to be served to her hot or she will complain about it. If she comments about it being too hot, I normally need to make sure the dish it is on isn’t melting.

The lobster bisque was Veronica hot.  I mainly bring this up because by the time that mine had cooled down enough for me to taste anything she had already decided she didn’t like it.  In her defense it was the richest thing that I had ever tasted in my life. It managed to coat my mouth with a not unpleasant film that remained after a sip of water.  My main complaint was there wasn’t really lobster in it, so that was upsetting. We also just might have not scooped any out.

But the real reason we were there, the meat.  There are round cards on the table that you flip over whenever you want someone walking around with a giant skewer of meat to stop at your table and offer you something. I was informed to not abuse this power, as I would quickly be overrun with nameless people asking if I would like some amazing cuts of freshly cooked joy.  As you can tell, that was all I had ever wanted in my entire life.

That never happened.  I always managed to clear the meat before the next guy showed up.  So, yeah.

The fillet mignon was amazing.  The only time I have ever had anything cooked that well was when my father cooked it, which is a complaint I don’t give out.  It was tender and juicy. It broke apart easily as I put any kind of pressure to it. When I put it in my mouth I held Veronica’s hand to keep me stable.  I had found my happy place.

There were tons of those kinds of meats, and I did really try them all—several times.  The only one that I didn’t remember liking was the chicken wrapped in bacon. It just seemed super plain.  Basically, like something I could have done. I don’t know if I was more upset that they didn’t do anything magical with the chicken or that bacon had somehow managed to let me down. Both kinds of lamb were good, the other cuts of meat were amazing, I skipped out on the sausage because it just seemed too heavy at the one exact moment the guy offered it to me.

At one point, towards the end, I was talking to veronica about how full I was and asking if we should call it a night after being there for an hour.  Out of nowhere a man walks up next to me and asks me if I would like a piece of flank steak directly from the oven. I responded, without thinking:

“See, this guy gets me!”  She made us leave shortly after.

Comments 1

  • My favorite line is where you hold Veronica’s hand in shear joy. I’m visualizing this. Also the salad bar doesn’t look like much I would eat, so leave me home when you take Dad. But you can bring me home an Orange Julius.