Searing Truths

Yesterday was a mild day in March here in New England. At lunchtime George hauled out the old gas grill from the shed near the Cobb house. He had several large fresh T-bone steaks - a bribe from a non-resident who we had allowed to illegally drop off some white goods at the appliance disposal area. We like to get rid of the evidence of our graft as soon as possible so I declared free steak lunch for the dumpfucks.

George had slathered the steaks in bacon grease and turned the heat up to full blast. The steaks went on the grill with a flash of flames, steam, sizzle and smoke.

"Watch it, there. Don't burn the meat!" I warned him.
He just looked at me with undisguised pity, as he turned the meat over with tongs. The flames leaped up, as if to consume his eyebrows.
He leaned back expertly. Only a few moustache ends seemed to have been singed.
"You know, DFM, one must cook with *elan*" he remarked pedantically as the smoke and flames flared dangerously.

I ran into the cobb house to look up the word in my American Heritage dictionary. It define elan as "enthusiasm and flair." Now I understood. I went back to the growing conflagration.
"Stop burning the meat!" I yelled. There was so much smoke I could barely see George. He looked like a ghost in the confederate mist, but I could see that he was becoming impatient with me.

"Searing. It locks the juices in." His eyes were watering from the smoke and heat.

"Bull Shit!" I yelled. " You are cooking the juices. That's why the meat is steaming and sizzling, you are cooking the juices OUT of the meat. It's a scientific fact."

"Shut the fuck up or I'll throw these fucking steaks in the compost pile!"

Sometimes as the manager you have to stop micromanaging. I let him cook the juices out of the steaks. Somehow, they were delicious. Science can bite my ass.