My mother used to be like this with steak. She would ask for it well done, and after the waiter wrote that down, she’d follow up with a comparison to a hockey puck. Like really just fuck this thing up sideways, it should be charcoal. The looks we got from most waiters were hilarious.
Meanwhile my dad would order the rarest steak it was legal to sell him. “Just walk it past the grill on the way out here, I want it still trying to graze on my salad”.
To their credit most places got it close enough that we could eat without complaint.
My mother used to be like this with steak. She would ask for it well done, and after the waiter wrote that down, she’d follow up with a comparison to a hockey puck. Like really just fuck this thing up sideways, it should be charcoal. The looks we got from most waiters were hilarious.
Meanwhile my dad would order the rarest steak it was legal to sell him. “Just walk it past the grill on the way out here, I want it still trying to graze on my salad”.
To their credit most places got it close enough that we could eat without complaint.