Argentinian Malbec, Well-Marbled Steaks, and the Earth Moved

Let's be honest: we've had some rough sledding lately. The demise of the magazine, budget cuts at school, and -- oh -- that delinquent tax bill arriving in the mail. Hum. Well, we took care of that right away! But it's left us a little depleted, in more ways than one. By mid-week, I had to have a real meal.

Spent twenty minutes at the meat counter, selecting the perfect steaks. Let's not dwell on why it took so long. But select I did. Then grabbed a bag of Vermont potatoes and a bottle of Alamos Malbec, an Argentinian go-to of choice.

"I want mine bloody," I announced, slapping the steaks out on the counter, then getting to work peeling and slicing the potatoes for oven fries. I seasoned the spuds with salt, pepper, and a spicy garlic and onion blend, then tossed them onto a oiled baking sheet in a 350 degree oven for 30 minutes or so, flipping a couple of times until they were golden and gorgeously brown here and there.

Fabulous.

And those steaks. No grill at hand, no interest in cleaning a broiler pan either . . .so we pan seared them. Started them in a cold non-stick pan set over nearly the highest flame. Turned after four or five minutes and cooked the other side. Mine was sort of still kicking, so we lowered the temperature and kept the other on the flame.

Fabulous.

I don't eat a lot of steak, but when I do, one could say that I genuinely enjoy it. In short, I find a succulent cut of beef cooked to perfection something of a, well, earth-moving experience. It's hard not to feel sorry for vegetarians, no matter how deep their affection for asparagus or broccoli might be.

For lunch I ate the leftovers cold. And for dinner now I'm about to roast a very plump chicken, which -- given my appetite -- I might consume entirely by myself. Perhaps it's not been a great week in terms of calorie or cholesterol counting. Or dollar counting, for that matter. But we've eaten well, with gusto, and with appreciation for all our gifts.

We're counting those blessings, you can be sure.

Photo: Dinner at Lomo, a Buenos Aires steakhouse -- Philip Choi.