My Sunday Feeling On Friday

My excellent friend V came by the house the other night and plopped herself beside me on the porch swing. I had not seen her in some time and asked how I came to be thus privileged on that particular night. I offered her a drink. She politely declined. I should have guessed right then that something was up. In our brief friendship I've never seen her turn down alcohol.

There was. Her boyfriend of about 6 months had dropped her like a hot rock. She didn't see it coming. According to V, about a month ago he started acting strange. He cancelled dates at the last minute, never picked up his phone and claimed to be constantly stressed out by work and pending litigation with his ex over custody of their son. Then 2 weeks ago-bam!-she was fired. By an e-mail. Nice.

I don't know V all that well. She lives in the neighborhood and we go to church together. But I like her very much and I feel badly for her. She had high hopes for this one. You hate to see a nice person get their universe inverted on them.

" I'm not going to talk to much about it or I will start crying which I will not do to you. But you know, I've been through a lot and I'm a pretty tough and resilient person."
She drew herslf upright.

" I was pretty crazy for a couple of weeks. But I'm doing a good job of putting this all behind me and moving on."" Good luck. Don't be surprised if you have flashbacks from left field every now and again," I said.


"Oh yeah? How?"

And so I told her the story of the cookbook my buddy Don is writing.

Don is quite an accomplished cook. He is writing a cookbook in which he basically sets out recipes for stuff he made his girls over the years while they were in the house. The recipes are leavened (sorry) with stories about shared tasks in the kitchen, comfort food for the sick, happy foods for celebrations. That sort of thing. It is a family history told through his cooking. He asked me to share some recipes I have used over the years including the recipe and the story about "the steak you used to make for that little kid." And so I shared it with V.

Long ago and far away, there was a little boy named Russell in my life. Russell was 5 at the time and Russell loved to eat. He was not so much a little boy as a tiny disposal. One day I gave him a bite of a marinaded pork tenderloin that I had made for his Mother and I and his eyes literally rolled up in his little head in ecstasy. " That steak sure is good!" he mumbled through a mouth full of not-steak. I guess in his little 5 year old brain, anything that wasn't served between 2 slices of bread had to be "steak."

And so a tradition was born. Whenever he was sick, or did something well in school, or when his birthday rolled around, he would ask for "steak" He would sit on the deck and watch in lustful anticipation as I cooked it on the grill. I would cut the "steak" up in little pieces and he would eat it with his fingers. His mother would slap his hand to slow him down. Otherwise he would have practically inhaled the goddamn stuff. I sent the leftovers home with him. That way he could eat steak for his lunch the next week in school.

I told V that I, too, have pretty much put it all behind me as well. But writing the story of "Russell's Steak" brought back memories and emotions that I thought I had done a good job of repressing. And being a guy I am all about repressing. I told V that someday down the road years from now she will see or hear something and the memories will come back whether she wants them to or not. There's only so much that a person can hold inside. A friend of mine that's with the FBI refers to those moments when the repressed or the secret peeks out from behind the public facade as "leakage." Doesn't matter if you're a child molester masquerading as a pillar of society or an average Joe soldiering on with a broken heart. Eventually, there is going to be some leakage.

"How many times have you made "steak" since those days?" she asked after that speech.

I looked at my watch. Why the hell did I do that? It's not like I wear a calendar on my wrist.

" Once," I said.

" I see."

I lam not an exceptionally high-minded person. I taught myself how to cook for one reason: To Get Laid (Pssssst! Guys, learn how to make a red clam sauce. Trust me on this one.). But I sure did enjoy cooking for that that boy and his older brother as well when he wasn't being a picky pain-in-the-ass. I sure hope somebody is still making Russell some "steak" every now and again.



And now as a public service, here's the recipe for "Russell's Steak."



For the marinade, combine 1/4 cup soy sauce, 2-3 tablespoons brown sugar, ginger to taste and cayenne to taste. If cooking for adults, add 1/4 cup of bourbon.



Pour into a large ziplock freezer bag. Place a 2 and a half pound pork tenderloin (Get one that hasn't already been pre-marinaded. That would pretty much defeat the purpose right? Do I have to tell you everything?) in the bag and seal 'er up. Place it in the refrigerator the night before if possible.



If cooking in the oven, do it at 325 for a couple of hours. Put it on a medium grill and cook it for about the same amount of time. While undercooked pork is not as deadly as undercooked chicken, you don't want your guests to get sick. To that end, you want to make sure that the internal temperature of the tenderloin is around 170 degrees ( For which you will need to get a meat thermometer. Duh.) or when the pink spot inside is about the size of a dime.



Serve with sauteed veggies, a salad or pasta with peppercorn pesto sauce. You will have to find that last recipe on your own. You can leave out the bourbon if you are cooking for kids or for people that don't/can't drink. I would sometimes forget and would serve Russ the high octane version I made for the adults. It didn't seem to make him act any goofier than usual and last time I heard he was not sleeping under the bridge or selling plasma for cigarettes. Besides, it did amuse me to think that Russell was sneaking whiskey fortified sandwiches into Holy Souls School.



Christian role model for today's troubled youth. Yep. That's me.



Cook this stuff up. Enjoy!