Cooking T-bones

I chopped the garlic and threw it into the bowl. Added some liquid smoke. Couple spoons of honey. Worcestershire. 

"Are we going to Tigers Opening Day or not? I'm gona buy the tickets now, if we're going." My wife had walked into the kitchen. 

"I don't think so. It's supposed to be cold. Like snowing-cold," I said. 

I started whisking, the aroma of balsamic vinegar swirling into my sinuses. Six T-bone steaks lay on a platter on the counter. There were a few zip-lock bags, spices, tongs. 

"It's always fun," I continued," but it's way more fun when the weather's good."

"If I remember right, you get crap-faced either way," she said. 

I said, "Lady, you ain't kiddin'."

I had blown a few hundred dollars on a quarter-cow, and I was getting creative; playing with different cooking methods, various cuts of meat, marinades. Presently I was daring to cook bone-in steaks. 

I opened the plastic bags and inserted two T-bones into each. I lifted the bowl and poured the liquid over them. I said, "I think some of these are actually porterhouses. The filet side of them is pretty big. That should be nice and tender." I sealed up the bags and placed them in the fridge. 

The next day was cold and windy. Oak trees and pines tower over the neighborhood. They swayed and rattled that day, stirring up energy with their loud rustling. In the back, gusts of wind blew dry leaves around the yard. The air was crisp and clean. The grill was hot. 

In a baking dish I had potatoes, cream of chicken, and shredded sharp cheddar. This was all mixed together with salt, pepper, butter, and sour cream. A combination of cream, potato, and cheese kills two birds with one stone: it's a rich side for smoky meat and it's a potato for steak. It baked for an hour, forming a fluffy, cheesy casserole with a crispy outer layer. All that was needed was a vegetable. 

My wife came into the kitchen. She said, "Those fence posts are broken and the yard is a mess. All those fallen branches need to be cleaned-up. Looks like more of those trees are rotted-out. They're probably gona fall. We need to get..."

I took the meat outside and slid the door closed behind me. The steaks, now at room temperature, needed a few minutes on each side. That should do it. I threw them on the grill, sat down, and admired the view. 

When the steaks were done, I let them sit for a few minutes before cutting-in. I wanted to slice the meat and see how tender it actually was. That first bite was amazing. The marinade had infused a smoky essence into the meat. There was salty and savory as well. The balsamic vinegar gave the steak a rich carmalizing, full of hearty, distinctive taste. I was really pleased. 

Later on, after dinner, I thought about dessert. I wanted banana's Foster, but we were out of brown sugar and out of dark rum. I thought perhaps I'd make chocolate mug cakes and top them with ice cream, but we were out of ice cream too. I was only trying to compensate; most of the family hadn't enjoyed dinner. Some of the steaks, the wife said, were undercooked, and the kids hadn't liked the marinade. I was left wanting more meat. In the end, I couldn't muster up the energy to begin another round of cooking, or dirty any more dishes.

"Those tickets still available," I asked. 

"For Opening Day?" she said. 

"Yea."

"Yep, they are."

"Maybe we should go. And after the game we can get something to eat," I said. 

"Greektown?"

"No, I was thinking Ruth's Chris."

Steak marinade:

http://www.geniuskitchen.com/recipe/steak-marinade-66648