It wouldn’t be a proper recounting of my Argentinean travels if I didn’t talk about the abundance of beef just one more time, or more importantly the style of eating Argentineans are most known for: tenedor libre. Translated as an “open or free fork”, this tradition has all-you-can-eat offerings that consist mostly of steak, I mean lots of different kinds of steak. It’s literally a meat buffet, but instead of cruising through plates of already prepared foods basking in heat lamps, dinner is hot off the grill, er, I mean…the asado.

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A celebratory dinner in my family rarely stretches beyond its boundaries of Wildfire, Cheesecake Factory or the like. But this time was different. This time we tried something new (well, I did anyway.)

It was my parents’ anniversary and my dad had always wanted to try a Brazilian steakhouse. You know…the glorious kind of place where they walk around with half-mutilated pieces of cow, lamb (or pig) and continually replenish your plate. Yes, we wanted to try that kind of place so after deciding between a couple, we went with: Fogo de Chao.

And now, days later, I think I’m still digesting all that meat.

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“We have a package of ground beef, what should we do with it?” is a question that often comes up in our house. Usually followed by our old standby of pasta and meat sauce, there are only so many things we know how to do with ground beef. Sure, we make hamburgers, meatballs, and even meatloaf, but the meat sauce has definitely been our favorite (if you’re measuring by how often it’s made).

But after last night, I’d say we have a new favorite, or at least, I do. Mom was feeling a bit more creative in the kitchen and decided to make some stuffed peppers. It had literally been years since I even thought about the concept of a stuffed pepper, let alone eaten one. And despite memories of somewhat negative associations, I was excited to give stuffed peppers another shot.

And let’s just say, it was love at first smell. As soon as I walked into the kitchen, I was greeted with the wonderful aroma of stuffed yellow bell peppers steaming and soaking in a bath of chunky tomato sauce. I was almost jumping for joy to eat dinner - who knew I could get so excited from a pepper?

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I have Jury Duty on Friday.

On the one hand, I’m a little excited, because Jury Duty is part of being a Real Adult and a Productive Citizen; on the other hand, oh, god, I’m going to listen to people debate traffic law for eight hours. It’s times like these I wish I’d spent my geek money on something a bit more portable than the hulking gaming brick currently sitting at my doorstep (yes, I’ve been checking Amazon Shipping all day).

But something struck me as I pondered my inevitable boredom: what kind of drink can I write about after being in Jury Duty all day? What epitomizes our justice system in a single glass of booze? I’m at a loss. Maybe something interminable, like an unpleasantly strong bitter cocktail that takes a million wincing sips to finish; something somehow flawed but still better than a lot of things, like a really good mixer missing one ingredient; something blind, like, uh, wood alcohol? I can’t decide. I hope one of you has a suggestion.

Oh, and in other news, eating food might kill us. Yes, again. Fortunately for those of you affected by the recall, we’ve got plenty of chicken burger recipes like this one to tide you over until all the germs go away. Bagged salad and spinach lovers are currently on probation.

Lastly: what should I eat to christen my new car? I’m thinking black bean quesadillas, because my car is black and looks delicious.

-Jim is somewhat random today, isn’t he?

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Recently I read a lovely entry over at Dessert Comes First about a very classy, very yummy, and very pricey steakhouse in Makati City, Philippines. Sounds like an amazing place, really, but it comes with a steep bill: P2,200 for a steak, which rounds out to about $50 USD. Most of my dinners don’t cost that much. But judging from the experience, the cost is worth it; and you know there are more expensive places out there.

Almost immediately the blogger got this comment:

hmmm… in a country where most people are languishing in poverty, is it even moral to splurge and spend so much? …on a single meal for just one person?

Facepalm.

Look, I’m not insensitive to the needs of the poor and downtrodden. My parents taught me to be as generous and kind as I could. I can’t walk past a panhandler without forking over a couple bucks, I’ve worked at soup kitchens, I constantly track the poverty situation in my country and others looking for ways to help. But do I feel guilty if after walking past that panhandler I head into a luxurious restaurant and stuff myself with a $50 dinner? In a word, no. In the same way that I’m concerned with the ethics of agriculture but will never stop eating meat, while I feel for those who can’t afford what I can I’m not going to feel guilty over my ability to eat good food. I work hard for my money; I temper my indulgences with a healthy sense of social responsibility, but plenty of that money is still unquestionably mine to spend on me.

Not so long ago, just enjoying a good meal was considered ostentatious, snobby, wrong in this country. We should do everything we can to minimize the deleterious effects of a nation full of foodies–reducing carbon footprints, using organic ingredients and humanely-raised meat, etc–and spend plenty of time and money helping alleviate the poverty situations here and abroad. But we can’t feel like terrible people any time we take a bite of black truffle or a sip of champagne. Have perspective about your situation? Yes. Loathe yourself for it? No.

Do no harm, help when you can, and treat yourself once in a while; provided you’re not Mr. Burns or that guy who checked out before we could punish him, you should be in the clear.

-Jim reminds everyone that his opinions are not necessarily representative of Recipe4Living

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Vegas has changed since I was there last, man. I don’t know if I can go back again, everything is so…commercialized now. It’s like they don’t even care how much fun you have, they just want you to spend money.

Seriously, though, I only have three regrets from the weekend:

1) I didn’t bet higher during the best craps games of my entire life. Game one was spent adoring our shooter, a stone-faced Latino who hit point after point while I gleefully stacked up chip after chip. Game two had me as shooter–my favorite cocktail in one hand, dice in the other–nailing the point time and time again. At the height of my run I had money down on virtually every number on the table. When I finally rolled a 7 and ended it all, I was still up a couple hundred dollars.

2) I didn’t stop playing once I sevened out and lost a hundred dollars.

3) I left my plastic Eiffel Tower cup from the Paris in the cab on the way to the airport. A cup like that has sentimental value! At least, I’m fairly sure it does; the details of the evening in which I acquired it get kind of hazy around the tenth pint of Bulmer’s.

I know you all assume that the highlight of my trip was the craps game–or possibly the booze–but there’s a culinary revelation or two lurking in the wings here. One I’ll save for Friday, but one I’ll tell you right now:

Have you guys heard of “hanger steak”? I sampled this amazing cut of meat at the Mon Ami Gabi (yes, I went to the cheap steakhouse when my hotel had a Keller restaurant in it, no, I’m not made of money) and let me tell you, I’ll be keeping a sharp eye for the “butcher’s cut” in grocery stores from now on.

I’ve always been more interested in flavor than texture; it’s why I loved elk steaks so much out in Utah, and why I think “gamey” is a good thing. But this steak, when cooked properly, manages to combine amazing flavor with just the right amount of tenderness. I had it with some rich garlic butter and delightfully thin fries, sipping a fine red and watching Vegas go by through Gabi’s huge windows; that and a trip to the Nine Fine Irishmen pub were the perfect end to an outstanding weekend.

A note for fellow travelers, though: don’t sleepily pay a $50 upgrade fee to get into first class on a flight from Vegas to Phoenix. It’ll be the least satisfying forty minutes of your life.*

-Jim thinks people who bet on Don’t Pass are jerks

*Seriously. They don’t even have champagne.

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