I like writing about restaurants and dining out. Every so often, however, I get reader mail objecting to what they describe as boulevardier columns. Give us business, market analysis and serious stuff, not a description of what’s on your plate, they say. I politely respond that they don’t have to read my puffery and refer them to the work of my astute and eloquent Bloomberg colleagues. But I do wonder if those readers get what I’m trying to do. Among many other things, I’ve written about the nature of money by way of a gourmet cash-only restaurant; examined the business strategy of the menu upsell on Valentine’s day; and examined why diplomatic skills are necessary for startup eateries. Restaurants and food may seem anchored in culture and social trends, but they’re entry points to business ideas and economic processes. Markets — like armies — march on their stomachs.
So, on to the meat of this story — the meaning of steak, for those of us who celebrate it. I love grilled beef: The combination of bovine tallow and scorching fire is like no other olfactory sensation. Indeed, in the book of Leviticus, it is described as a sweet and soothing aroma so pleasing to God that it is reserved for sacrifice. Not too long ago, I was able to consume a sizable beef chop all by myself, gnawing on the bone and savoring all that divine blubber. But those days are gone, along with low cholesterol levels and any pretense at a boyish waistline.
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