THE BEEFSTEAK CHRONICLES: One if by land, two if by BEEFSTEAK

For the past five days, I’ve felt like a new mother, getting rid of that ten pound bulge in her stomach for the first time in nine months. This mission, Operation Beefsteak, was my offspring, the combination of my hard work and semen. After Chef Trey broke the news to me gently and erotically last Wednesday, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t eat; I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even touch myself at night. Postpartum depression had set in. I realized I would have nothing to bitch about anymore. Today was to be…THE DAY OF BEEFSTEAK!

Or was it?

As soon as I arrived to dinner, I sprinted to the line of tasty treats. It announced the arrival of Beefsteak on the menu, although the name had been slightly changed to protect the innocent. “Breaded Beef Steak,” the menu proclaimed in bold letters. Simultaneously my stomach both grumbled and dropped. I would behold the holy grail of dinner meats–Beefsteak. However, with a bite of the mystery meat, my mission would come to an end.

OR WOULD IT?

As I got closer to the bundle of hairnet and frump I like to call a lunchlady, something struck me as odd. There was no Beefsteak to be seen. “Perhaps,” I thought to myself, “perhaps they are keeping the Beefsteak in a seperate compartment for ultimate flavor explosion.” And then I popped the quesion.

Or did I?

“Could I have Beefsteak?” I asked the grey-haired maven of the food service industry. And then from the heavens, or perhaps the smoke-scarred throat of the cafeteria worker, came a gravelly voice that put my day in a spin. “We don’t have any of that today.“

OR DO THEY?

In the end, I finally realized what mattered most in this world. I had been selfishly worrying about the loss of great articles at the expense of Beefsteak. I immediately became ashamed of myself. What mattered most was Beefsteak, and perhaps my shenanigans ruined that for everyone. The evil consulate of A.B.O.L.I.S.H. got everyone’s hope up for Beefsteak, and when they took it away, they sucked the pain of the masses into their massive bloated guts with a crazystraw. The masses would surely be broken up about this.

OR WOULD THEY????!?!??!?!?!!?!?!?!

Chef Trey waited outside the kitchen with a bloody smock over his white tunic to hear the moans of dispair from the students.. “That’s a noise,” grinned Chef Trey, “that I simply must hear!” So he paused. And Chef Trey put a hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low, then it started to grow. But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry! It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY! He stared down at Kriner Diner! Chef Trey popped his eyes! Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise! Every student in Kriner, the tall and the small, Was singing without any Beefsteak at all! He HADN’T stopped Beefsteak from coming! IT CAME! Somehow or other, it came just the same! And Chef Trey, with his club feet ice-cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!” And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore. Then Chef Trey thought of something he hadn’t before! “Maybe Beefsteak,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Beefsteak…perhaps…means a little bit more!“

And what happened then…? Well…in Kriner they say that Chef Trey’s small heart grew three sizes that day! And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight, he whizzed with his load through the bright morning light. And he brought back the toys! And the sweet apple cake! And he, he himself, Chef Trey carved the Beefsteak!

OR DID HE?

Okay, so none of those last few paragraphs were true. No Beefsteak today, despite the promises of those evil bastards at A.B.O.L.I.S.H. Our National Beefsteak Warning is flatlining. This will be continued.

Until then, all hope for future Beefsteak has faded…

OR HAS IT?

FIN

THE BEEFSTEAK CHRONICLES: A BEEFSTEAK in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Disaster strikes at ground zero of Operation Beefsteak.

Arriving at the dining facilities today, we made a beeline for the comments board. The card, that sweet, succulent comment card, was missing. No response, no acknowledgement. Obviously the conspiracy has decided to track us down and kill us. Luckily, they don’t know Brad and I by our true names. They think we’re Nick Sallade, attorney at law. And so the game is afoot.

In an effort to expose the conspiracy for what it is, Brad decided to ask his friend on staff one question, the burning question on all of our minds. “When will you be serving Beefsteak?” The answer we got was entirely unexpected. The employee told us that he didn’t know when, but he liked it. Somebody acknowledged beefsteak! The first cracks in an alliance of defiance have started to show. It was my duty to be the hammer that smashes that particular block of injustice open like so many hard-boiled eggs.

As we were speaking to the dining services employee, the ringleader of this whole twisted circus showed his twisted and evil facade. If you remember my last entry, you’ll know that a man who goes by the name of Chef Trey responded to the first comment, denying all knowledge of such a meat. He approached us and I decided to work the Beefsteak Charm. “Excuse me sir,” I said excusedly. “My friend Nick has been bugging us for days about this Beefsteak. Is there any help you can provide for us?” The man looked at me, a glint of hatred in his eyes and a spatter of gravy on his chef’s hat. “I have no idea what that is; some kid has been asking me about it all week.” Once again, we got nowhere. It was time to get out the heavy artillary. “Beefsteak is the golden brown and crispy steak treat that is fried up nicely by your dining hall staff,” I proclaimed with an air of indignance. “A fried steak, if you will.“

With defeat glowing red on his tired face, the chef condescended to answering my question. “Oh! Fried steak! It’s on our regular rotation, I’ll go check it out for you.” The man himself went back into the kitchen, presumably to speak to his evil council of elders. He came out three minutes later with a smile on his face and a tear of agony on his cheek. “Monday. Monday is the next day we have Beefsteak.” WE ARE VICTORIOUS! BEEFSTEAK IS ON THE MENU! THE RED SOX WIN THE SUPER BOWL! THE GREEN ONES ARE MY FAVORITE!

Of course, things could change before next Monday. Perhaps the Chef lied to me so that I wouldn’t expect the assassin awaiting me in my doorstep. Perhaps I must be silenced for the good of their operation. They’ve killed before, and they’re willing to kill again. They are A.B.O.L.I.S.H., and they will stop at nothing to erase Beefsteak from the consciousness of the public.

A.B.O.L.I.S.H.
Anti-Beefsteak Obliteration League and InterState Highway

For now, I’ll keep my guard up. Keep checking in for daily updates. Until then…

THE BEEFSTEAK CHRONICLES: Why are there so many songs about BEEFSTEAK?

A conspiracy is afoot.

I’ve received a response to my simple, innocent suggestion. That suggestion? Bring on the Beefsteak! Unfortunately, the dining hall staff decided to play dumb. To recap, here is my original message.

Dear Kriner Staff:

It would be much appreciated if you could make Beefsteak a permanent menu fixture.

I then proceeded to sign it with the clever alias “Nick Sallade.” The perfect crime!

Today I arrived at the dining hall, and went to the board in my utter excitement for Beefsteak. Apparently our University can neither confirm nor deny the existence of Beefsteak. Keep in mind that my clever alias is Nick Sallade.

Nick-

I’m not sure exactly what you’re talking about–let me know, thanks.

-Chef Trey

So now the nameless conspiracy has a face, and the faceless conspiracy has a name! Chef Trey! The fly in my ointment! The bee in my bonnet! The non-marshmallows in my Lucky Charms! In my ire, I decided to elaborate to this new villain, this phantom menace, about the wonders and joys of Beefsteak.

This is my response to the dastardly dastard, approximately.

Dear Chef Trey,

I am a Beefsteak fanatic. Beefsteak is the golden meat treat that’s fun to eat. I have experienced Beefsteak here before, but only on rare occasions.

Love,
Nick Sallade

Tomorrow is another day, and hopefully the clever fiend will reply to my message. Mine is a message of peace. A message of harmony. A message of Beefsteak.

Until then, the current outlook is dire.

THE BEEFSTEAK CHRONICLES: Wherefore art thou BEEFSTEAK?

Phase one of Operation Beefsteak is complete.

That’s right, Operation Beefsteak.

Ever since last year, I have been infatuated with the cut of meat mysteriously called “Beefsteak” at our school’s dining halls. The name itself is pretty bizarre–if you have a cut of beef, it’s a steak. If you order something called steak, you’ll be receiving a cut of beef. Now if the mystery meat in question were a chicken steak, which I’ve seen on menus, the prefix would be understandable, even necessary. The holy name of Beefsteak, however, is downright ridiculous and redundant.

As far as the senses go, Beefsteak is a rare and exotic treat. Aesthetically bearing an eerie similarity to “country fried steak,” it is obvious that this cutlet has been fried in a delicious, golden-brown batter. When biting into a piece of Beefsteak, however, all similarities to country fried steak go right out the window. Beefsteak is a flavor adventure that needs to be experienced to be believed. So many adjectives are running through my brain right now to describe beefsteak, and not a one will make sense to you unless you’ve tried it. Here are some of these adjectives, in order of vividness and chronological recall. Smooth. Tasty. Melty. Beefy. Steaky. Popsicles. Delicious. You will have to trust my word of honor that each and every one of these words embodies the flavor and spirit of Beefsteak.

And this brings us to Operation Beefsteak. I’ve only had the exquisite pleasure of eating Beefsteak once, and it was in my first semester of Freshman year. It is high time that change come a-knocking on the glass doors of our dining establishments. Today began a campaign that was long in the making. Bring back Beefsteak, Dining Services, and make it often.

DAY ONE:

Today was a preemptive strike on the other side’s home front. I posted a comment on the comment board that is to be taken very seriously. This is a transcription of the comment.

Dear Kriner Staff:

It would be much appreciated if you could make Beefsteak a permanent menu fixture.

Tomorrow is the big day, the day when I see what their response is. It will be posted on the board when Nick and I go in for lunch.

If my suggestion is met with indifference, disdain, or anger, it is time for true action to be taken. I will write an increasingly inventive series of letters to the Dining Staff to promote Beefsteak Awareness on campus.

Some suggestions that I will use:

The National Beefsteak Alert must be posted on every door in the dining halls. One example is this.

A fun-filled “Fact or Fiction?” chart about Beefsteak. Here is an example.

FICTION: Beefsteak is bad for you.
FACT: Beefsteak is a victimless crime.

Obviously this is a hot button topic here on campus. More to come as this develops.