Burnt To a Crisp or Bloody As Hell?

For some reason, I had it in my head that Em didn't care for steak. She eats salmon like a fiend, so does Mo, so that's what I tend to get for the grill, when I can find salmon on sale and am relatively solvent.

But when I found the Omaha Steaks in the freezer, still sealed in their vacuum pouches, I figured I'd throw a couple on the grill and she could try it. I knew I'd eat them, no problem there.

I really expected her to ask me to throw hers back on the grill. I timed them for medium rare, 4 minutes, flip, two minutes. Hot all the way through but quite red inside. 'I like medium rare as well as medium well,' she said. She proceeded to devour her fillet, delighting in the bacon wrapped around it.

She did ask me what this red stuff was. I knew she'd pull a Ghandi hunger strike on me if I said 'blood,' so I said, 'It's just the juices. They run red if the steak is rare, brown if it's overcooked.'

She pronounced the fillet 'tender and juicy' and said she'd eat grilled steak anytime Dad wanted to light a fire.

She ate a pretty good serving of salmon to boot.

Meanwhile, Mo scarfed most of the shrimp I'd bought. The sale was too good to pass up, but I bought less than a pound of it, and she made short work of them.

Then she proceeded to drown her salmon in ranch dressing. I swear, there's nothing this kid doesn't like ranch dressing on. Chicken nuggets, french fries, I'm half expecting her to start dipping her Oreos in the stuff.