Marinades for You and, More Importantly, Me

Humor by Mark Bazer

Are you marinating your meat?

Hmm, that question sounded dirtier than I intended. Please accept my apologies, and let's get on with the business at hand.

Which, again, is marinating meat.

I realize that half of you are already doing this, and have been for a long time. If so, feel free to turn to the back page and read about the type of flooring in Lindsay Lohan's prison cell or something.

Or think back, if you can, to the first time you put meat in a bag of homemade marinade, let it soak overnight, grilled it the next day for dinner, had that eureka "I never knew the meat I cooked could taste like this" moment, and then kept the magic going by bathing in the leftover marinade.

That was me last night. I wish this column could come with a piece of my marinated skirt steak attached to it. Back before the Internet and Craigslist, newspapers were flush with cash and included pieces of meat with their columns all the time.

Now, though, you'll have to take my word for it. My steak was tender and juicy and flavorful, and even the E. coli in the undercooked parts tasted just right.

Heck, I could excel at work, could receive a raise or a promotion, or a nice smile from an exec who received a raise and a promotion, but none of that would bring me the same sense of fulfillment, the sense that I was doing my job as a human being, as the marinated skirt steak did.

Without getting too much into the macho grilling thing, I felt like a man ... a man who buys meat at a supermarket, puts the meat on a gas grill and then takes the meat off the gas grill six minutes later.

So, again, the question: Are you marinating your meat?

If you're not, you need to do so tonight. Get some meat, make some marinade (I used Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, garlic, red-wine vinegar, salt, pepper, sugar and a splash of Lohan's tears), and go to bed knowing your life is about to change.

When I'm on my deathbed, looking back at my years on this planet or, more likely, just groaning a lot, I fear I'll spend most of the time regretting that I waited 36 years before I marinated.

I fear I'll grab my youngest great-grandchild, pull him or her close with what strength I have left, and scream "Marinate!" so loudly he runs out of the room crying.

Don't let that happen to you. And if you have any good marinades, send them my way. I hope to not be doing much else the rest of the summer.

Humor & Satire

Humor & Funny Stories - Marinades for You and, More Importantly, Me | Diane Farr