The Steak Story — by Elazar Aslan

By Elazar Aslan

There is a steakhouse in Brooklyn, New York, that is the epitome of a big city steakhouse. Not only does it have career waiters and original wooden floors and furniture, but it is actually very good. In my opinion (and apparently many others’) it is the best in a city full of greats. Peter Luger Steak House is the mold that created the stereotype and Peter Luger is worth it. I went to Peter Luger’s about twice a year and have the same great experience: Tomato and Onions, Steak for Two, German Potato, Creamed Spinach and finish it off with a Hot Fudge Sundae with extra Shlag. After doing this for half a dozen years, it became both a trusted treat and a reliable ritual. I’d skip lunch that day, grab a friend and go to Luger’s famished, order the usual dinner, finish half the phenomenal-and-never-disappointing steak and take the rest home for another treat.

This particular outing was to be the same. Reservations at 5, expected satiation at 7. Unfortunately, this time I got a client call at two, requesting a meeting for later in the day. Given the timing and logistics, there was no way I could have the meeting and make the dinner. As you can imagine, I tried every possibility before I succumbed to the wishes of this very important client for a very important meeting. I canceled my reservations at Luger’s and ran out to grab a late lunch as I was starving. Upon my return to the office, I picked up my messages and found out that the client canceled the meeting after all. (I soon left the client service business, but that’s another story for another time.) I immediately called Luger’s, more as a reflex than anything else, and they did still have an opening at five.

I was excited to arrive and had no intention of changing any part of this semi-annual tradition, despite being rather full already. I would take more home if I had to, I reasoned. In any case, the gastronomic experience commenced. The warm-ups were done and the still sizzling steak, cut up in pieces, arrived as expected. I began to ‘finish off’ my steak pieces on the edges of the plates that were heated to 400 degrees just for this reason, while savoring the anticipation itself. I started eating the steak and was quickly disappointed. The steak was just okay, which given the whole build-up was a major let down. There was nothing wrong with it, so I couldn’t really return it, but if this were my first time at Luger’s I would never return. But I kept eating the steak nonetheless and assessing the predicament, complaining silently how this steak wasn’t that good, but eating it just the same. Finally, as I was finishing the last bite of steak I had a powerful revelation: After all, every time we came, I would be famished, order steak for two, which was always delicious, we would get stuffed after eating half the steak and take the rest home. This time, I was already full, the steak wasn’t that good AND I was finishing the whole thing.

It was then that I could see absolutely clearly that when something is fulfilling we get satiated and we move on, but when something simply gives us the hope that the next bite will be the one that compensates for everything, then we become addicted to that hope and can not stop.

* * *

As I was growing up, I developed a special relationship with women. Each seemed to hold the promise of a gift for me. Past the buffer between me and my loneliness, past my float in the parade, past even the excitement of sex there was the buried treasure of hope. Hope that this woman, this relationship, this moment will be the one piece that will redeem all that came before. I used to think it was love. I came to realize that in fact, it was addiction to love.

In time I came to realize a deeper truth. It is the good mother we can release and the dysfunctional one we hold on to – I always used to think it was the other way around. Only now I can see the full power of unrequited hope – the next embrace, the next comment, the next visit – it is in the next interaction where the hope of redemption lies and as such, the unwillingness to let go.