Carnivorous

I just finished eating a very nice steak, deliciously juicy and medium rare, done to a turn on The George.

I love steak. Okay, not just steak; I love red meat. I have made peace with my carnivorous nature. I embrace it, in fact.

I grew up on red meat. My Pop was a steak and beef man, and my Mom made sure he got it at least three times a week. On Sundays she cooked up a big standing rib roast, with thick slices of onion and tomato jammed into slits on the edge of the meat. It was never cooked past medium rare, the more juice the better.

I judge all roast beef and prime rib by those Sunday roasts. My mouth waters just thinking of them.

In summer, Pop used to grill steaks and burgers on a little hibachi out on the patio. We always had a bottle of Lea & Perrin's to sauce up the tasty meats. To this day I love a little worcestershire on my steak.

Oh, I took a stab at giving up red meat when I was in college, but it was no use. I'd go home for dinner on Sundays. When a slab of perfectly cooked roast beef landed on my plate, I was a gone goose.

So I'm a theoretical vegetarian. I think it's a great idea, but there's nothing like a good steak.