Thrillist has gotten my email and has seduced me into clicking. It's not my worst habit, but I shouldn't give them so much of my attention. They make me forget that there is poetry in the world. Nevertheless they can be instructive on finding new foodie spots I have not yet discovered, overpopulated as they may be with younger, more energetic humans than me. (grumble).
This morning's seduction began with the thirty one best steakhouses in America. Interestingly enough, I've been to two of the first three. I haven't thought of Barclay Prime in a long time. It has been at least seven years since I was there. I remember that it was when paddle shifting dual clutch supercars were a new thing, and so I particularly noticed the new convertible Lambo out front. Come to think of it, there is nothing quite as sad as a three or four year old Lamborghini. They have to be sparkling as well as loud to maintain their appeal. But I'll spare you these and other stoic observations to make my short and sweet point, aside from the seduction of the adjective 'best'.
The kobe beef wasn't worth it.
I'm pretty sure that I saw on the menu, a listing for a kobe beef hotdog or hamburger for $100. I thought about it a long time, but I decided against it. I had an ordinary ribeye steak and found it to be unremarkable as ribeye steaks go. In fact, I have had three coming to Jesus level steak experiences in my life. One at Jockos, one at The Double Eagle and one at The Hitching Post. Aside from that, I think I have reached the age where the subtleties of everything non-intellectual generally fail to impress me. The difference between a first class steak and a world class steak is marginal after your 500th steak. And yet this distinction without a difference must be said with some deep appreciation for the privilege it is to eat so many steaks in one's life. I have such a deep appreciation for a good hunk of beef, but I can also spot a bargain, and there's something ever appealing about a bargain.
An old boss of mine used to tell me that we should go eat a cow, and in some high rise building in Bellevue, I had one of the largest steaks I ever ate in one sitting. I was physically in pain getting out of my chair afterwards. But what I remember was the elevator ride up. We were in the same car with game developers, one of whom looked to be in his mid 50s wearing a braided grey beard as long as your arm. They were totally casual in this hot shit restaurant, and I was like... trying to ignore that reality. It wasn't about the steak. It was about the Dosh Point, aka 'fuck you money'. I was wedded to my monkey suit. The steak wasn't quite as satisfying as it should have been. We overdid it. I really didn't need 24 ounces. But it was on my old boss. I was being seduced, or something. In the end, that business failed.
What I have learned in the intervening years is the extent to which we must work with consistency and within the aegis of our ambition. I have always expected to be first rate but not world class. I cut myself out of that arena when I recognized that my French had lapsed and I didn't attain my Master's degree. I thought I was out of it, and I still haven't bought the Rolex, although I could afford one if I made a point of it. But that $100 kobe beef hamburger and that Lambo. I have come to realize that they are on a logarithmic scale. The quality is on the X axis but the price is on the Y. It seems way above my head because it costs so much, but it is not far from the quality I have already experienced. If I'm the poorest guy in Barclay Prime, it's OK. There's a McCormick & Schmick up the street that is not in the location location location, but its steaks are first rate.
It turns out, of course, that no American restaurant ever really had authentic, official Kobe beef. The Japanese never exported it. It was all fake. And yes it's true now that you can buy a Camaro that outruns Ferraris, Porsches and Lamborghinis. What's important is your attention to the difference. When I sold stereo, I used to tell my customers that if you can't hear the difference, don't pay for the difference. But like wine snobs, we generally associate quality with price, even when we can't tell the difference ourselves. It's about the signaling, of course; it's about drawing other people's attention to the distinctions.
I enjoy my life. I need to remember not to show off. I need to remember that my indulgences in those things for which I pay particular attention to the distinctions are for myself. I need to simply be happy and not brag about what stuff makes me happy. My enjoyment of that which makes me happy is its own reward. I'll share it with some modesty.
At the same time I need to be aware of the extent to which people are enslaved to their own Dosh Points as I have been, which we may never reach. We need to pursue our barbell strategy. Prepare for both extremes, enrichment and impoverishment. Live without regret, as a warrior all your days. Dig for treasure but love the shovel. Only be a fanboy of the dead.
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