rib-eye steak

Man, oh man, oh man. I forgot how fantastic this dead cow meat is. Oops. Pardon me. I meant to say rib-eye steak.

I didn't do a thing to it. Honestly. Salt only, at the table. Seared stovetop then finished in the oven, restaurant-style. That's it.

Microwaveable pre-packaged fruit and vegetable mix. A whole fresh tomato.

This is the sort of thing I made all through my twenties when I was a struggling student. It takes me back. Not a week went by without at least one or two of these, possibly three, but then I would have a baked potato piled up with extra stuff.

By struggling, I mean to say, struggling to have as fantastic a life as possible while working and going to school simultaneously, because I was fearful of missing something, keeping up a house, working with a Belgian sheepdog daily, skiing and hang gliding were my sports, as you can see I'm quite team-oriented … not, keep an automobile operative, sell my art, interpret for deaf and hard of hearing, party like a manic who thinks tomorrow may not come, drink like a fish -- an alcoholic fish, smoke my poor lungs out, host parties, cater them, travel assiduously, you know, the usual sorts of things all indicators of immaturity and lack of direction. I used two grills, one gas and another regular charcoal briquette. I used them both all through the winter, sometimes simultaneously moving the contents from one to another as the substances were flipped assembly line fashion, used them much more than the regular stove and even in the snow or while it was snowing or raining. Now I don't have any of that stuff and I'm much more sane and composed. Have you noticed that?