Unending piles of tenderloin, filet mignon, crab, bacon-wrapped kidneys, shrimp and lamb chops.
Butter garlic and cheese french fries.
Bottomless kegs of excellent beer.
No women allowed
Your two greasy hands feeding your face all of the above while all of your best friends feast with you.
It’s called a Beefsteak.
And I’m going to host one.
I saw an article today in the New York Times about a tradition from the early 1900s where politicians would host massive feeds called Beefsteaks for men to come to before they voted. At the time, women couldn’t vote, so it was an all male bonding event. The men would gather around giant tables and stuff themselves full of all the beef and french fries and shrimp that they could handle, washing it all down with copious amounts of beer. At a beefsteak, a man would get back to his caveman roots, eating only with his fingers and allowing his inner glutton free reign. These events mostly died out after the women’s suffrage movement was successful and wives and girlfriends would come and look at the men with disapproval. I intend to remedy this situation by hosting an all men’s beefsteak feast soon. Any man who wants to come needs to let me know. I think if everyone chips in $15-20 we can eat enough to satisfy the inner beast in all of us.
Beefsteak. What a lovely concept.