I am a man held hostage by a hunk of cow.

I decided to make something quick and easy. It also needed to be hearty and fulfilling because it’s so damn cold a parade of penguins is moving in next door. So I chose to make something that had the adjectives “quick” and “easy” in the title, yet would be substantial enough to help me survive this frozen wasteland I call home. That dish is Quick and Easy Pan-Seared Steak (Page 311) with a Simple Red Wine Pan Sauce (Page 319).

Notice the use of is, not was. I’m currently still waiting to get this “quick, easy and simple dish” started. Allow me to explain.

The first step of Quick and Easy Pan-Seared Steak is “Season generously with salt and pepper.” The second step is wait 45 minutes.

45 minutes is not “quick.” It’s a full episode of Maury when you fast forward through commercials.

45 minutes is not “easy.” I once walked out of a Jimmy Johns because there were four people in line ahead of me.

Rather than once again dwell on The Food Lab’s outright lies, I decided to fill the endless void of time and space by being productive. I sliced one shallot and minced another. I googled “Slicing vs. Mincing” and received absolutely no direction. I made an educated guess. I don’t think I did it right.

If Satan has a garden, he grows parsley. I watched several YouTube video tutorials about the proper way to cut parsley and I still have absolutely no idea how it’s done. I feel like my rage alone should be enough to scare the parsley pieces into separating from each other, but when that didn’t work I threw down my knife and got out the scissors. They did nothing. I’m left with a heaping pile of malformed greens. I abandon the Dark Lord’s Decorative Garnish.

I look at the clock. There’s still over a half an hour left until I can start cooking.

I’m making Red Wine Pan Sauce. I have 30 minutes with nothing to do and I’m angry and hungry. I don’t think Red Wine Pan Sauce takes the entire bottle and it’s about time the chef took a taste. I pour myself a glass and wonder if Hemingway did it like this when he wrote his food blog.

My mind has wandered and I’m starting to think about thyme. I only need four sprigs of thyme for this recipe, yet was forced to purchase roughly 400 sprigs because that’s how grocery stores work. Is this an allegory? Do we think we need more thyme/time to make a difference in our recipes/world yet in reality a little goes a long way? What does this say about the human condition? Do we grasp for more thyme/time against the inevitable end? How much thyme/time is too much thyme/time?

Have I had too many glasses of wine?

The clock has struck zero. There is no more thyme/time for philosophical questions. There is only thyme/time for steak.

30 minutes later.

It all happened so fast.

As instructed, I heated the pan to roughly the temperature of the Sun. When I threw the steak into the molten hot pan I was greeted by a satisfying sizzle, and a terrifying fear of losing my eyesight as hot oil jumped out of the pan and into my face.

I kept my head up, and fought through the plumes of smoke to make the ever-important steak flip. It happens flawlessly and I stare in wonder at the crispy brown steak crust I have birthed, and the thyme, butter and shallots I have forgotten about on the prep counter.

I throw everything in the pan hoping it’s not too late, before flipping the steak a few more times. Many cooks believe flipping a steak more than once is the secret to ruining a perfectly good steak. J. Kenji Lopez-Alt believes otherwise, and I am but his faithful disciple, now anointed by searing hot vegetable oil.

When I was growing up, my friend’s father once ordered a steak by telling the waiter, “Knock the horns off, wipe its ass and walk it on in here.” I’m not quite so bold. I’m shooting for 120^oF, more commonly known as Medium-Rare. I bought a thermometer at the grocery store for this, so I guess I’m officially invested now.

The steak is out and needs to rest for five minutes, but my panic can not subside. I thought to myself, “If my steak gets cold before the pan sauce is ready everything is ruined.” In reflection, that was somewhat dramatic. All I’ve had to eat today was a frozen dinner. I could have covered the steak with ketchup and would have eaten it.

I quickly start throwing everything I can into the pan to try to get it cooked down in time. Shallot? In. Flour? In. Wine? In. Stock? In. Stupid-ass parsley? In. Dijon Mustard? Safety seal still on. I reached for a knife to cut the bottle open and grazed the nuclear-hot pan with my wrist. There is no time for pain. Next time i need less wine, and more preparation.

I defeated the safety seal but felt the overwhelming pressure of my ever-cooling steak and quickly decided to eyeball a tablespoon of mustard into the pan when Hurricane Dijon made land. Chicago doesn’t go through this much mustard during baseball season and it’s in the middle of my sauce. I decided to just heat it up, cook it down and live to fight another day. What can man do but persevere in the face of such overwhelming tragedy?

Once the sauce was remotely thick I chopped my steak in half, scooped out a spoonful of the stuff and sharpened my teeth. During my panic I forgot to throw the frozen vegetables in the microwave. I don’t care. It’s 9:00. None of this was quick. None of this was easy. None of this was simple. I am a carnivore and it is time to feed.

This is the best steak I have ever eaten. The burns and boredom were worth every single savory bite. I simply can’t describe how incredible this piece of cow was. I am proud of my creation. Did I invent steak? No. Have I perfected it? Yes.

When I go to sleep tonight I’ll do so with my stomach full, and I’ll dream about this steak. When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll do so with my head on fire, not from the searing hot oil bath, but because I probably had one too many glasses of the main ingredient in Simple Red Wine Pan Sauce.

Recipe: 9/9

Did I do the dishes? Kind of.