"Emerging Writers, Serious Writers"

since 2009

Poetry, Prose & More. Join Us!

Man vs Steak.

Star InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar Inactive

I remember cooking dinner for the first time. I had to cook for my self because my parents were away my sisters were over at their friend’s houses and I didn’t have money to order pizza. I began digging through my fridge when I noticed that my parents had left steak in the fridge for me. I pulled the pan out from under the counter and set the stove to high. I went upstairs to answer the phone, and forgot about the pan during the brief conversation with a foreigner asking for his friend Alf. About twenty minutes later I discovered why you should never leave the stove unattended, when I came downstairs and burnt my arm on the now obscenely hot pan handle. Harsh language was used, and many insults were slung at the pan. After I applied Neosporin to my burn I decided I’d try cooking something other than my arm, and cut open the steak. I took down the chopping board, and grabbed a knife from a drawer. I then cut the steak, slowly, tying to avoid another injury. When I was finished with that I thought I’d try to season the steak. I decided to dig through our horribly organized lazy Suzan in search of spice. After ten minutes of spinning the Suzan and pulling out what felt like the same container of cilantro and tarragon I finally found the soy sauce, which I decided was more than enough. I then poured the sauce in the pan, which in another act of spite decided to hiss and spit at me while the sauce was poured in. The small of salt filled my nose. Then I put the steak in, which the pan didn’t object to as much. The next ten or so minutes were spent flipping the steak in order to avoid giving the pan the last laugh by burning my dinner too. When I decided that the steak was right I turned off the pan, and put it in the sink where a stream of cool water punished the pan for it’s sinister deeds. Steak by it’s self is pretty boring, so I began looking for potato chips in our cupboard. Of course having two sisters with a monstrous hunger meant that there were none to be found, and it also meant that I’d have to make a side for my steak. I began looking for potatoes, as grilled potatoes and steak sounded extremely appetizing at the time. I began searching through the cabinets and the fridge. They were in neither of these places, but instead they were in a bag located directly next to our cleaning chemicals. I decided that potatoes were probably not the best side dish. Instead I decided that I’d make a burrito. I pulled the tortillas out of the fridge, and turned the stove onto its lowest setting to avoid turning my arm into the appendage equivalent of Harvey Dent. Slowly I put the tortilla onto the stove, and as I pulled a plate down from the cabinet I began to smell smoke, as the tortilla had become severely burnt on one side. Panicking, I grabbed the unburnt and surprisingly cool side of the tortilla, and yanked it back off the stove and onto the floor where my portly hound quickly consumed it. By this point I was put out and decided that steak by it’s self would be more than enough. Grabbed my plate and headed into the living room, where I ate my slightly cold steak, which tasted surprisingly good considering all I’d gone through during the process. -by Jacob McWethy

Comments (1)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

While your style is a bit direct, I loved reading this.

There are no comments posted here yet

Leave your comments

  1. Posting comment as a guest.
Attachments (0 / 3)
Share Your Location