Tonight after some shopping for a shirt and some skivvies I stopped off at Montana—not the state, but the Steak House next to my hotel. Timber met me on entering, tree trunk beams in the ceiling, around the walls hold up the ceiling and heavy timber tables. I opted for a booth in the bar and once again timber with high seats and table, but sensibly place foot rests. The wooden tables, seats, and bar were thickly coated with varnish or whatever is the modern equivalent—smooth, shiny, and thick.
That’s enough of the décor. First off, I asked for a long cold beer. The waiter reeled off a whole list of beers available and I stopped him at the first one I didn’t recognize. Now with a cool beer in front of me I had to negotiate the menu. A large glossy document with lots of pictures glorious description on what was on offer. I finally settled for rib-eye steak (in my mind a piece of fillet steak), baked potato, and southern baked beans. A modest selection I thought. So I also asked for a Californian Woodbridge Merlot in, the new menu option of, a large glass. In a surprisingly short time, it all arrived.
Was I wrong—my modest selection ended up being large steak, a HUGE baked potato with all the trimming, a reasonable size dish of baked beans, and a large dollop of onions flour dipped and expertly fried. With this, they supplied a sharp steak knife. Oh! I thought they don’t trust the steak to be tender. Once again, I was wrong. The steak was perfect and the knife was useful in cutting through the sinew or whatever you call it—those tough bits between the muscle. This of course was not problem with the cooking but rather the construction of the donor animal.
Every item on the plate was delicious and not wanting to upset the cook, I ate everything on my plate, just as my mother taught me. Now with a empty plate in front of me there was nothing else to do than have a black coffee and ponder the bill. The meal was expensive buy my standards as I don’t often eat out at home. However analyzing the bill, I saw that half the cost was in what I drank and that part those nasty tax people seem want. It occurred to me that for about every eight of us who dine out we are paying for one tax person to have a good meal. Is this charity? If so, could we claim it on our tax returns as a charitable donation?
After finishing my coffee, I walked back to my hotel and decided to write this blog.
Sorry Jessie and Emma no pictures. I will go out tomorrow and take some.
No comments:
Post a Comment