Oh. My. Gosh!
This afternoon, Ivan and I “grilled” fajitas on our stove top, on our Lodge griddle. It is eleven at night, and, when I walk into the kitchen, all I can smell, from mid hallway, truth be told, is beef. Grilled beef fajitas.
There is very little in this world that comes even remotely close to being my favorite fill in the blank. Beef, grilled, outdoors, and, now, obviously, indoors, tops the list. You know those stupid questions, or, questionnaires, you get on FB, “If you were on an island, and could only eat one thing for the rest of your life- what would it be?” Grilled beef. Fajitas, steak, fajitas, steak. I care not. I am a carnivor, and, have always been so.
Sixty plus years ago, my great grandmother, on my fathers side, fell, and broke her arm. She came to stay with us for a short while, I do not remember any of the particulars as I was a child, maybe four years old. But, I remember her being placed on the open sofa bed, in the living room, where we lived, in Port Byron, Illinois.
When she felt like eating, which she did not do a lot, she would let me help feed her. I do not remember that I was any good at it, but I loved this tiny, wrinkled little women who I hardly knew, with all my heart. I have only two or three distinct memories of her, and this is one of them.
Fast forward to the mid nineteen sixties. My parents grilled steaks in the fireplace at our home, in Moline, Illinois, every so often, and, believe me, they were, to my young palate, incredible. My grandmother, Amanda, dad’s mother, lived with us for many years, and she usually asked for the fat off of everyone’s steaks. I did not understand this but she, eventually, told us that her mother always asked for everyone’s fat.
Ever since then, I have also acquired the taste for beef fat, and frequently, without much fuss, try to acquire the fat off of anyone’s plate.