When you go to a steak place you generally order a steak. On rare occasions I will order chicken, salmon more often, even at times simply a salad, but usually a steak. This evening was no different. I ordered a steak. That is where this story takes a turn for the worst.
One thing I hate is fried steak, well from all but one place that is. Outside of this one place I honestly do hate country fried steak. I’m such a nut case that I will go into a restaurant and order a country fried steak to see if my past observations have been correct and they always are. I never ordered country fried steak at a steak restaurant, until this evening.
Oh dear God in Heaven, why did I do that? Of all the bad country fried steaks I’ve had this one was the worst by far. Please understand that this restaurant is someplace I’ve been to often and the food as a rule is good. Not a five star by no means but it pushes well into the upper side of three. So, I figured what the hell.
My first indication that this was a bad idea was when the waitress put it down in front of me and then asked, ‘this is what you ordered right?’
I was assuming at the time was my slight note of surprise when she placed it in front of me. Now I wonder if it wasn’t more to do with the fact that she knew this was a bad idea. First it was the size of a boogieboard, hell the damn thing was shaped like a boogieboard for that matter. The second thing I noticed what the fried coating on it. It resembled one of those tannish yellow brown shingles that some people put on top of their houses. The tiny drop of white pepper gravy, as they call it, also didn’t bode well for my dining experience. That I couldn’t get through half of it shouldn’t be surprising due to the size alone. Hell, that thing would have filled the jolly green giant if he could have gotten past the shear distaste of the damn thing. The roof, wait didn’t I mention shingles, of my mouth and my tongue feel like I’ve chowed down on sandpaper and it extends back to my throat. I’m wondering now if I’ll be able to swallow anything at all tomorrow.
So, to sum it up, I had a boogieboard size and shaped shingle with extremely heavy-duty shingle, with whatever they put on those things that look like tiny little pebbles, of a less than appealing color, with a drop of something called white pepper gravy. I think this has terminated my fixation on ever ordering one of those culinary torture devices again, except at tat one restaurant. I have learned my lesson. If you can’t get a good country fried steak at a steak house, then it’s a safe bet that I have discovered the only place on this earth to get one of those gut-wrenching main courses where it is not only eatable but quite tasty. I will pursue this quest no longer.