A Dinner in Chino
a tough steak to chew
“Is there anything else I can get you?” The smiling young waitress hovered at my right shoulder.
My friend’s sister points to my steak, then looks up at me expectantly. I was slightly embarrassed to look at the girl, but went on, a bit unwillingly, about the steak being tough, mostly fat and gristle. I had not been able to cut or chew it, so had eaten the delicious vegetables instead. She reacted very sweetly as expected, and took the plate away to be examined in the kitchen.
The owner came out with a long explanation of how they bought and butchered the steaks; they were prime cut steaks, they should not be full of gristle, how everyone else enjoyed their steaks that night. It went on overlong, and I was beginning to feel a creeping sensation of being an obnoxious complaining patron who needed to be calmed. They cooked me another steak and an entire plate of vegetables, and brought it out just as my friends were having dessert. I was feeling a bit like the Shane character in White Lotus I; I needed to be noticed, needed to be special.
I ate a few bites of the steak out of appreciation, the owner returned for reassurance, and all was forgiven. Maybe.
A burning knot at the back of my scull; the plain and simple knowledge that I had been so lucky to have any kind of steak on a plate, the reality of privilege set before me.
I happened to know from my sister, who was a teacher in this little Arizona town, that nearby is a teacher’s assistant living in a Tuff Shed with her young daughter. The rents here are so high that working people can’t afford to live under an insulated roof.
As I write this, It’s snowing here so hard that I can’t imagine that life at all. I push it out of my mind. The snow batters the air, leaving a sacred cover, making all things equal in white. For now.
