Bar-b-Que...Me and You...

This story is for those of you who have never had to scrounge through garbage mounds or pick through the soon-to-expire meat section because you HAD to. (Disclaimer: most of these words are attributed to Ego-Amy.)

I picked up a stove-top grill at Goodwill recently, and decided to treat myself to a steak to test it out. I’m afraid of fire and can’t manage to barbeque for myself without sweating bullets; therefore I hoped this would be a manageable alternative. Three thin ribeyes were on sale, and I figured thin would be better than experimenting with a truly expensive, thick juicy steak. I was jazzed; I could get three meals for less than $8.00.

As the week progressed, a spontaneous bar-b-que was planned at a neighbor’s in order to help entertain a young gal temporarily left alone, and just some camaraderie. I was secretly proud I had steaks to bring rather than just hot dogs and an appetite. I gave the hostess the frozen steaks the night before because my fridge doesn’t hold the temperature well and I didn’t want to chance my treasures spoiling in this heat, as much of my food does.

I brought my own iced tea and a bag of homemade tortilla chips from the giveaway table in the ice room. Another neighbor was at the helm of the charcoal grill, carefully tending chicken and veggies; and once the steaks were brought out the chef and the host started joking about their size. I can’t recall their exact words but it was something along the lines of this:


"Jeez, what did we do, buying these budget steaks, Hun? Bring some real ones, for crying out loud!”

“There’s no Rare for these babies. Shoeleather in the making.”

“Hahaha!”

This went on for about a minute until Amy had enough, stood up and announced that I was the one who brought the steaks, and that was all (we) could afford. The host was embarrassed, but no more so than my own mortification while listening to their banter.

He tried apologizing, badly, (“I thought WE bought those”); and I beat Amy back down while joking my way out of a red face, badly; but it didn’t stop me from feeling so poor. A humongous T-bone was thrown on the grill.

“I LIKE thin steaks,” the young gal offered sweetly, but I couldn’t shake the pall which came over me. Just the thought of future get-togethers involving food already gives me ageda.

If you haven’t experienced anything close to this you’re lucky. It’s really not a nice feeling, but one which too many of my fellow ‘chronically homeless’ neighbors can relate. I’ve been working through my feelings for the past 24 hours, and as usual the best medicine is writing.

I know the host didn’t mean to be insulting or hurtful; and perhaps I was oversensitive. I don’t even know my point; except to ask you to remember America’s hungry. We’re your friends and relatives. Check out a local food bank to see if there’s something you can do or donate.

Thanks for listening.