I’ve never liked meat much, but I’ll eat it. I detest it when it’s the least bit rare. I learned to like it even less one year. In about 1976, I was young, single, handsome, and thin. Just look at the picture. That shirt was very thin. I don’t think I could even get the collar around my arm now.
There is a restaurant in Portland, Oregon called Saylers Old Country Kitchen. Since 1948, they have had a deal that if you could eat a 72-ounce steak with all of the side dishes within one hour, you got the whole meal free and your picture on the wall of the restaurant. I don’t remember how much it was in 1976, but today it’s a $60 meal.
I decided to give it a try. It was so rare it looked like it would “moo” any moment. The rules of the contest allowed me to send it back to be cooked a little more, but the clock would not stop while I did. I sent it back twice and it looked as disgusting as ever when it was set before me.
Now to be fair, most people would probably not think it was disgusting. I just do not like the side of rare meat. It makes me think I’m going to get sick from parasites not being killed. I don’t know how realistic that is, but I like my meat well-done.
I couldn’t do it. Even as skinny as I was back then, I could ususally pack away food. If it had been a 72-ounce bowl of ice cream, I would definitely have done it. I paid for the meal and took the rest of the meat home. I gave it to my future wife, Barbara, and her roommates, who cooked it up and served it as a meal for all of them. There were six women living in that apartment. To this day, when I see a thick rare steak, I get a little queasy.