I just cooked what may have been a perfect medium-rare rib-eye on my cast-iron pan tonight.
[note: as much as I love steak, the goal of tonight's cooking was actually focused elsewhere: getting that gas oven to heat up the apartment. Fuck you, arctic air! You hit my apartment right in the feels, and my furnace hates life but so far is up to the challenge, running non-stop.]
Even better - this particular slab o'meat actually had a fairly decent chunk of spinalis dorsi (rib-eye cap) separated from the main course by a fair-sized thread of fat. I focused on the rib-eye itself during the first part of my feast, but as I quickly ran out of meat, I began to wonder how much meat attached to the outer-layer of fat I could salvage. It looked burnt, and I was sure it would be tough and not nearly as appetizing as the juicy, pretty damn tender main course. [note: this was USDA Choice Angus]
Umm... all I can say, is those few precious bites found in the second course, were like chewing on what must have been some kind of strange hybrid cross between meat and butter. Frankly, I do feel the rest of the cut actually had a stronger flavor (granted, I seasoned it slightly), but these few bites were so damned tender my tongue found itself more confused than ever. Was this still meat? Is this real life?
And the flavor, while not as "powerful" as the main course, was far more matured and nuanced. The ribeye was the Lexus of flavor, while those last few precious morsels of dead cow could be called the Rolls-Royce of flavor.
Each bite seemed like it should have been served all by itself, perhaps on a silver appetizer platter.
Oh medium-rare ribeye, how I adore you, more than ever after tonight.