Will This Be My Best Meal?
It’s not a question I ask often….and definitely not when I’m plopped on my couch, in sweats. Not because my home-cooked meals are bad (they’re not, I swear!) and certainly not because I have any beef with the Star Baker herself. It’s just… most of the time, dinner at home is less culinary event and more fuel for survival. We're not chasing Michelin stars; we’re chasing simplicity. No obscure spices we’ll only use once. No YouTube deep dives on how to julienne something. Just vibes and sustenance.
Every now and then, we do crack open a cookbook, bust out the pasta maker, and wow ourselves. But even in those rare, flour-dusted moments, the thought “Could this be the best meal I’ve ever had?” rarely enters the neighborhood.
But tonight? Oh, tonight it barged in.
That question—Is this my best meal ever?—usually only shows up when you're out somewhere special. Like that anniversary dinner you planned three months in advance at the bougee rooftop steakhouse. The one with the linen napkins, a skyline view, and steak prices that made you double-check the digits.
Or you’re on vacation, at that beachside seafood joint everyone on the internet swore would change your life. You’re eyeing the oysters like the snob you are, wondering if this meal will finally dethrone that one from Italy in 2021.
But it’s rare—so rare—to find yourself asking that question while sitting on the couch, halfway through watching the Wolves absolutely dismantle the Warriors in Game Two, contemplating whether to switch over to Andor so you can finally join the Discord theories for Season Two. And yet, there I was, staring at my plate thinking: Wait… did I just accidentally created the greatest meal of my life?
I know what you're thinking: What was on the plate? What culinary miracle are we dealing with here?
Brussels sprouts. Thinly sliced potatoes. A New York Strip steak.
Yep. That’s it. Go ahead, roll your eyes. I get it.
Honestly, when I first plated it, I didn’t even want to take a picture. The Brussels and potatoes looked burnt-burnt, and I could already hear the group chat roasting me harder than the veggies.
But then I took a bite.
The steak? Cut like a dream. Juices trickling out like a creek in your local park. Pinker than Peppa Pig. Perfect fat-to-meat ratio. I audibly gasped.
Then, the potatoes. But these thinly sliced babies? First-time attempt. Cooked in a glorious buttery bath with sautéed onions, garlic, and a little S&P. Crisp around the edges, soft in the middle. I could’ve wept.
And the Brussels? Burnt, crispy, salty. I said what I said. Divine. Zero notes.
I had no expectation of culinary greatness when I tossed this all in my Trader Joe’s cart earlier. I picked it because I ran today and needed something quick and low-lift.
But tonight? Tonight, I tasted heaven.
And yes, I even shared a little with Henry. Even though he's on a diet. Sue me.