House of Sugared Meats
“A steak, please.”
“We serve an excellent sliced asada in maize-syrup mole.”
“No thank you. Just grilled, medium.”
“How would you like that sugared?”
“I don’t want it sugared.”
“Honey-barbecue brushed or mandarin-orange marinated?”
“Neither. And please bring some salt and pepper.”
“Of course. Sweet Samoan napu-pepper garnish . . .”
“Do you want your steak molasses-glazed or maple-glazed?”
“With kiwi salsa, banana salsa or papaya salsa?”
“Mango chutney or tangerine chutney?”
“Dusted with champagne-grape powdered-sugar flour or dredged in Southern candied-pecan cornmeal?”
“Dredged in granulated C&H sugar, please.”
“. . . I’m sorry. We don’t serve that. Perhaps some A 1 sauce? Or . . . ketchup?”
“No. Thank you.”
“ . . . okay.”
“Caramelized onions . . .”
“I changed my mind. No onions.”
“That will come with brown-sugared sweet potatoes or plantain chips.”
“ . . . ”
“Never mind the potato, and don’t worry about vegetables. Just the steak. Whatever cut. Grilled. Medium.”
Fifteen minutes later.
“The steak looks good. But I didn’t order any ice cream.”
The ice cream was melting. A border of liquid whiteness kissed the steak.
I placed five $20 bills on the table and left. Drove home. Sat in front of the TV. There were commercials on every channel. I settled back and ate a bag of Oreos.
Inspired by experiences in fine eating ?establishments citywide.
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