We had some spare filets mignon in the fridge, and this morning Hubby decided to have it with his eggs. He offered some to the decidedly carnivorous Son #3, who (being also a wordy chap) offered his definition of steak: "A slab of meat with garlic on it".
Ah, maternal victory. He has absorbed my steak recipe. Which you want, now, right?
Hubby said, "You are definitely your mother's son. I don't put garlic on steak, I put Worcestershire sauce on it."
I grew up putting garlic on pretty much everything. Parsley, too. Hubby pretty much weaned me off of the parsley (although I enjoy it when I find it) but garlic is not going anywhere.
And who makes the steaks around here? Yeah, me. So what you want on your steak is garlic, and salt, and pepper. And that is it. Happiness ensues.
This morning he cooked a filet mignon in the George Foreman Grill. He says it was good, but...it just seems wrong to put a good cut of meat on that thing.
I'm just sayin'.