I grew up in a meat-eating household, and in particular were we extremely fond of grilled steaks: porterhouses, ribeyes, and filet mignon, above and beyond all else. But meals like that are indeed a nearly literal luxury in the current economic climate, and therefore grilling a steak happens few and far between now. Last Saturday night was a joyous indulgence, though, once the early morning's cold rain had passed on and we got a bit of sunshine and the winds had died away. Out to the grill I went and with me were two thick-cut filet mignons, freshly harvested from a larger beef tenderloin I'd allowed myself to exuberantly invest in. Grilled to a perfect temp with just the seasoning of salt and pepper, the meat itself did all the talking and I liked listening. As long as it all felt extravagant, I also made a pot of mashed sour cream-and-chive red potatoes, adorned with a bit of red wine demi-glace. As dinners go at the Roediger House, this ordinary weekend repast felt like a giddy celebration.
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