Filet Mignon

Tonight, the inspiration was carnal. Meat and potatoes. Also known as the 40lbs of red meat my husband brought home a couple weeks ago that is hogging all the space in the freezer. I rarely cook beef, for the simple fact that I don't like it all that much, but I guess my iron was low tonight. I needed protein in the form of the daintiest of beef cuts. Juicy, tender, filet mignon.

On my way home from work, I contemplated methods of cooking... cast iron skillet, stainless steel pan; but it was my husband who insisted that I cook out on the grill so I didn't smell the house up like I did last night with pan-seared salmon. So it was decided, and after a mojito, I took the hunks of meat outside. We fired up the grill (well, actually just turned on the gas and turned the knob to high) and I started to sear the meat. Two minutes each side. Now, this was my first time cooking this particular cut of meat, and I had done some research. This particular cut has a very low fat content being as it is cut from the short loin of the cow, thus the connective tissue is not toughened by exercise resulting in extremely tender meat. You wouldn't cook a filet like you would, say, a brisket which has a huge amount of fat. So my method was to be quick and dry. A little pat of the meat with paper towels, a painting of canola oil, and a dusting of kosher salt and pepper. This was beginning to look good. I took the filets off the grates after about 7 or 8 minutes of cooking and let them rest wrapped in aluminum foil. This is always the worst part of cooking--letting the meat rest so the juices don't pour out the minute you stick your steak knife in. Finally the 10 minutes were up, I loaded up our plates with a heaping of garlicky spinach mashed potatoes, asparagus, and the glorious meat, and we sat down to enjoy the fruits of my labor...

The fantasy of having a steakhouse quality piece of meat was short lived. The moment I cut into the steak I knew it was over. I had overcooked it, booo. It was as if I cooked all the flavor out, and it didn't tear apart like it does in restaurants. I had to cover each forkfull with a heaping of potatoes to cover up my embarrassment. My loving husband of course said it was delicious, as he always does, but I knew the truth. I had cooked myself a hockey puck, with a side of veggies. Better luck next time, eh?