Yesterday, I ranted to myself for my memory lapse. While out doing some errands, I discovered that I had forgotten my purse, so I didn't stop by my favorite food store on the way home.
After enjoying a nice cup of winter squash soup for lunch and attending to other life details, I ventured out again, much later than usual. Oh, I hate using up more gasoline, but it was just too hot and miserable to walk, and I was still on a 24-hour exercise restriction after the blood donation.
Just as I wheeled up to the meat counter, they were putting out the quick sale items. I got a couple of packages of salmon for $1.99 a pound and a buffalo "london broil" for $3.99 a pound. Score! The price of the steak was half what I usually pay for ground buffalo.
I am still venturing into the land of the meat-eaters, and had never cooked london broil before, and never eaten a buffalo steak. Good thing for the internet. My internet search made the process even more confusing, and I had no clue as to the actual cut of the meat. I decided to just throw some salt and seasonings on it (cumin, cinnamon, garlic, my own very hot pepper), let it sit on the counter for half an hour, and then fry it in a pan with coconut oil. NOT a french recipe, then again, buffalo meat doesn't come from France, so there. I grilled some San Marzano tomatoes. (I cooked some additional San Marzanos in the pan drippings, for some soup for a later time.)
OK, now I get what the fuss is all about. The rare steak was delicious! I can't believe that I am here, eating bloody meat with a few vegetables, and loving it. I imagine myself as Suzanne Pleshette, gliding through my modern kitchen appointed with a set of chrome-finished appliances in avocado and harvest gold, waiting for Bob Newhart to return home from the clinic, serving just steak and salad. Then I glide along to change from my apron to my caftan, and we are ready for the evening.