The Perfect Cut of Meat

Every surface was spotless. The counters were disinfected, the contents of the cupboards were methodically stacked, and not a spice bottle out of place. Each little scrap of food was saved and composted in the small garden out back. Nothing went to waste.

He fingered the sharp knife, then placed it carefully on the marble cutting board. It sliced smoothly through the carrots.

Chop. Chop. Scrape into the bowl. Chop. Chop. Scrape.

Meat sizzled in the pan, the thick aroma of the juices filling the air.

He tipped the salt shaker and, to his absolute horror, the lid came off, showering the tender meat in a white blanket.

It was ruined.

He sighed and turned the stove down to low. He emptied the tainted food into the small red dog bowl next to the garbage and washed his hands thoroughly. He wiped his hands dry with meticulous care, replacing the dish towel on its rail and straightening it.

In a few short steps, he pulled out a key, unlocked the basement door, and descended the stairs. A few creaked softly under his weight.

There was a muffled sound from the darkest corner of the room. Ignoring it, he made his way to the fridge and opened it. The light illuminated the basement.

Five bundles of freshly filleted meat sat on the shelf, wrapped tightly in saran wrap.

Humming a little tune to himself, he chose two bundles, turning them over so that he could compare them side by side. One was lean, it would be too gamey for his dish. The other was also so, but it was more marbled than the other. Balancing the first one in the crook of his arm, he traced the thin lines of fat with one finger.

Satisfied, he put the first one back, closed the fridge, and headed back up the stairs.

He unwrapped the thick bundle. The plastic fell away and he stared at it, paralyzed in shock and awe.

This, this!

Tears welled in his eyes and he dashed them away before they could obscure the object of his overwhelmed state.

Now in the bright light of the kitchen, he could see what he hadn’t in the darkness of the basement. A dark, dark pinkish brown. Trails of white marbled through it like soft candle wax after the flame has been extinguished. It looked like smoke, dancing against a background of reds and browns.

It was the perfect specimen.

So perfect, that he’d almost missed it. To think that not two weeks ago it had run and danced and seen the world through those innocent eyes. And that smile, oh, that smile!

He caressed it with trembling hands.

Be still, my beating heart.

It deserved a proper preparation.

Turning the stove heat up once more, he drizzled a small amount of truffle oil in a new pan and let it get hot. He rubbed the cut of meat in a pre-made seasoning of herbs and freshly ground pepper, careful to not miss a spot and, once the pan was ready, he laid it gently in the pan as if he were putting his own child to bed. It sang when it met the heat, its refrain causing his soul and mouth to cry out in joy.

While its melody filled the air, he steamed the vegetables and waited with rapt patience. The minutes dragged by, but he found that he didn’t mind. And then it was finished.

The table was set with the best cutlery, all polished and gleaming. The lights were turned down low. A candle was lit. He sat at the head of the table and draped serviette over his lap.

He sliced a delicate piece of meat off, marveling at how tender it was, and his hands shook as he brought the fork closer and closer to his mouth. The specimen disappeared.

He chewed.

Water streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto the napkin on his lap. It was sheer bliss that made him set the fork down with a gentle clink of metal on china.

He swallowed, his vision blurred by the euphoric tears that continued their race down his face in an ongoing stream like a river that had met water after an age of parched nothingness.

Beautiful.

Exquisite.

Perfection.

________

Originally published in The Liar Collective Volume 19 in 2018.