Steak Night At the Galloway House

I’m typing this note from the Houston Intercontinental Airport, which is my mid-way stop until I get home to Cincinnati. I’ve been in California for a solid week, first seeing my mother, then attending the annual Romance Writers of America conference.
I have a feeling lots of other Harlequin American writers will have far more insightful things to say about the experience than me. So I’ll let them tell y’all about all the fun things that happened at RWA.
Instead, I’ll share with you the latest installment in what is beginning to be known as Steak Night at the Galloway House.
I have to tell you that I did not name this Important Event. My kids did. However, I kind of like the label, because well, this dinner is a pretty big deal in our little family of four.
See, we really like steak.
And no, we don’t have it all that much. I’m a very good cookie baker, but not a great cook. So, I’m constantly trying out new recipes, much to my teenagers’ dismay. (Their grading system of my meals is a whole other story). Anyway, we like our steak, and these dinners usually fall on Sunday nights, or when no one can take another episode of “Shelley trying to make fancy food.”
Unfortunately, steak night rarely goes off without a hitch. Our crazy beagle has been known to pull New York strips off of countertops (raw and cooked) , the grill mysteriously runs out of gas, and, well, sometimes the side dishes have been known to go awry, culminating in the time three potatoes blew up in the microwave.
That was a real mess.
One time our dear daughter made the mistake of inviting a new boyfriend to these special meals. It didn’t go over so well. We knew he wouldn’t last when a)he wouldn’t eat a baked potato (our obvious standard side dish-when whole and not blown up) and b) insisted on smothering his steak with ketchup (Galloways don’t do that) and then c) only eating half his steak. When the boyfriend tossed his leftover steak in the trashcan, my son merely looked at the poor kid with disdain. Obviously, he didn’t-and never would- fit in.
She broke up with him three days later.
Anyway, since I was gone for a week, and my husband is not the cookbook fan that I am- steak night was last Thursday. I only knew this because I received an SOS call at 2 o’clock California time. Seems steaks had been taken outside to thaw, been forgotten about, and retrieved five hours later. All three of my favorite carnivores were staring at a zip locked bag with three very brown, warm steaks inside. “Shelley, any chance they might still be good?” my husband asked.
I regretfully told them that no, probably not.
They ended up eating grilled cheese sandwiches.
Special dinners are on my mind because I just received a text. It seems potatoes are in the oven, a salad is being tossed, and four fresh steaks are thawing-in the refrigerator this time! Tonight will be wonderful, indeed. I’ll finally be home-and will definitely be ready to sit down to a great dinner-with three of my favorite people in the world.
So, anyone have a special dinner that says ‘home’ to you?
Shelley