PERFECTLY GRILLED STEAK

from Moose Jaw Express May 17th, 2023

by Moose Jaw Express

By Robert Thomas

· Level: Easy

· Total: 30 min

· Prep: 15 min

· Cook: 15 min

· Yield: 4 servings

· Nutrition Info

INGREDIENTS

4 1 1/4-to-1 1/2-inch-thick boneless rib-eye or New York strip steaks (about 12 ounces each) or filets mignons (8 to 10 ounces each), trimmed 2 tablespoons canola or extra-virgin olive oil

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

DIRECTIONs

1. About 20 minutes before grilling, remove the steaks from the refrigerator and let sit, covered, at room temperature.

2. Heat your grill to high. Brush the steaks on both sides with oil and season liberally with salt and pepper. Place the steaks on the grill and cook until golden brown and slightly charred, 4 to 5 minutes. Turn the steaks over and continue to grill 3 to 5 minutes for medium-rare (an internal temperature of 135 degrees F), 5 to 7 minutes for medium (140 degrees F) or 8 to 10 minutes for medium-well (150 degrees F).

3. Transfer the steaks to a cutting board or platter, tent loosely with foil and let rest 5 minutes before slicing.

Photographs by Steve Giralt https://www.foodnetwork.com/ recipes/bobby-flay/perfectly-grilled-steak-recipe-1973350

One of the topics Muriel Stuart (1885-1967) liked to write about was nature. She even stopped writing poetry to pursue writing about gardening. In this poem, she shares about the hidden potential of seeds. In their current state, they look like lifeless stones, but an entire garden and forest rests inside of them when they are planted. The same could be said about people. When we don’t embrace our purpose and contribute to society, we are no better than unplanted seeds. But once we allow our gifts and talents to be used, we create beauty for others to enjoy.

The Seed-Shop

Muriel Stuart

HERE in a quiet and dusty room they lie, Faded as crumbled stone and shifting sand, Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dryMeadows and gardens running through my hand.

Dead that shall quicken at the voice of spring, Sleepers to wake beneath June’s tempest kiss; Though birds pass over, unremembering, And no bee find here roses that were his.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams; A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust That shall drink deeply at a century’s streams; These lilies shall make summer on my dust.

Here in their safe and simple house of death, Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap; Here I can stir a garden with my breath, And in my hand a forest lies asleep.