The Price of a Good Meal

Gobble and Waddle.  Sounds like what people do at a Golden Corral or one of those highway restaurants with the overcooked vegetables that I can't remember the names of.  Or it could be the name of two of my hillbilly relatives.  But. . . do you already know?  These are the names of the White House turkeys.  Not Eric and Donald.  

Trump is going to pardon them.  The turkeys.  

I hate to jump the gun, but Thanksgiving is right around the corner.  I look forward to not cooking.  Nor buying the food.  Last night, I decided to cook steaks.  I used to eat steaks quite often but somehow they fell out of my rotation.  I think it was because my grill didn't seem to get hot enough and they were turning out beige.  But last night, my mother agreed--we needed a steak.  So I bought two boneless NY strip steaks.  Why those?  Have you looked at the price of beef lately?  I couldn't go T-Bone or Delmonico.  Those strips were bad enough.  Asparagus.  A potato.  And a Cab.  

When the cashier rang it all up, I exclaimed, "Two dollars and nine cents for a potato?!"

"Yea, it's crazy," said the man checking me out as he rang up the five dollar and forty cents asparagus. 

Holy shit.  

I'd gotten an o.k. bottle of wine.  The bill for last night's meal came to $45.  BUT--I was excited to use my new credit card which pays me back 2% on all my purchases.  Huh? Pretty cool, right?  

I did the math in my head.  I would get back ninety cents on the price of my meal.  

I was nervous about cooking the steaks, but I had read the proper way to cook them without a grill.  I let them sit as long as I could to come close to room temperature.  I rinsed them and patted them dry, then gave them a good coat of olive oil.  Salt and pepper.  I cooked them in the big cast iron pot into which I drizzled olive oil and put on high heat.  When I dropped the steaks in, boy did the sizzle.  One minute per side.  Then I cut the heat and let them cook for about five minutes turning them once.  

I've already said, "Holy shit," but I'll say it again.  They were perfect.  We ate everything.  We ate it all.  And at the end of dinner, the bottle of good wine was gone, too.  

Was it worth $45?  Or $44.10?  

Whatever.  We were a happy pair, old Gobble and Waddle.  

See?  I kick about my life.  I'm living like a White House turkey.  

I even ordered three more t-shirts yesterday.  Black.  Slimming, you know?  Classic.  I should have gotten ten.  What I should do is go shopping for some grown up clothes.  I haven't worn a pair of dress pants--DRESS PANTS?--in years.  That's what us hillbillies call 'em, I guess.  Dress pants.  I have some very fine Italian tropical wool pants that have a lovely drape, but I doubt I would fit into them now.  I haven't the heart to find out.  All I wear are mumus now.  

I should try to grow up a bit.  

I still have shoes, little crocodile loafers and the like.  Haven't had them on in. . . how long?  

And jackets?  I have a lot of nice linen and silk jackets.  And when was the last time. . . ?

This is my preferred attire now.  You recognize the photo, no?  At least the studio couch.  And again, I think I like the illustration more than the photograph.  Funny that.  

Well. . . there you have it.  Oh. . . I subscribed to Vanity Fair again.  After Carter Gray left as editor, the magazine had an agenda that didn't speak to me, but they have a new editor now who has already, with the first issue, gotten embroiled in all sorts of controversies, and the subscription for both digital and hard copies was only $1/month.  How could I say no?  It's exciting.  Every month, a magazine will show up in my mail just like in the old days when it was exciting to get catalogs like Smith and Hawkins, Pottery Barn, Anthropologie, Banana Republic, etc. . . when they were really works of art.  I'd get into bed at night with a cocktail and a pile of catalogs.  

Yup.  I'm a real girl, I am.  That's what always made me so special.  Those were the days when I would wear a pareo around the house like some suburban primitive.  

So here's a tribute song. . . to me!  You know the song, but you never listen to it.  Now you can.  I'll give you several versions in descending temporal order.  Remember, the only lesson you should learn. . . .