First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

filed in Happy Ever After

The Hunt for Red Meat

March 24, 2009 ⋅  Email This Post ⋅  Print This Post ⋅ Post a comment

In my family, we were punctual, well dressed and steady. Don’t misunderstand. We weren’t buttoned up so high that our necks couldn’t breathe. But there was a linear quality to the way we lived. A+B=C.  My father was an accountant. He could add a long string of numbers without a calculator, and maximize the space in the trunk of our Olds. During the holidays, when my mother entertained for 20 or 30 people, she assembled the chicken in advance on serving platters, portioned out the potatoes, cut the cake into the right amount of pieces, and sliced the lemons for hot tea. We were composed and ready to go before the first hint of company arrived.

With preparation came results. Hard work. Pay off. I watched and absorbed these lessons.

I am thinking about a steak for dinner. I plan to go the butcher. The meat is good, fresh, they know me, and I’m sure they’ll pick out the right piece. I drive over there, which is no short distance, and as I approach the front door, I see a “closed” sign in the window. Are they on vacation? Is there a death in the family? Gone fishing? There is no explanation. I go back to my car and fume.

I am tempted to pile on to my frustration the other bad parts of my day. You know how that goes. Woe is me. But wait. I am mature enough to recognize that’s a bad idea. I start breathing. In. Out. I can feel my shoulders begin to relax. My brain uncoils.

Okay. The butcher is closed (without warning). Where do I go from here? Is there someplace else I can find a steak. There’s the supermarket, but I don’t like the look of the meat. I’m not sure when it was packaged. I’ve heard you can find steak at Costco, although it’s 45 minutes in the other direction and I’d have to search for my membership card. I could go to Whole Foods, Trader Joes. You see, plenty of options.

Maybe I can take this one step further. What was it that I really wanted when I thought about the steak? Did I want to see the slab of charred red meat on a plate? Was I going for the protein? Could I be just as pleased with veal scaloppini sautéed quickly with lemon and butter, or maybe I could grill some lamb?

In my family, once you started down a path, you didn’t stop, until whatever it was you set out to do at the beginning was accomplished, fully and admirably.

I’m all for it. It’s in my DNA. It just hasn’t worked that way for me. Certainly not in terms of finding a husband. Sometimes with every intention of going to the butcher for a grade A steak, he or she could thwart your efforts by being closed without warning, and then you have to think on your feet. You can call your friends to see if they know a good butcher, you can drive clear across town, or you can breathe in and out and think, “maybe I could eat something different tonight.” Maybe what I think I want in a steak, I could find in a hunk of sharp cheddar or two eggs over easy.

Finding the Perks Elsewhere (see Husband Benefits Pie Chart) 

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