It's so sexy when a man whips out his meat pen.

All of my male friends cook better than me.  They all have better cookware, have researched everything with Cooks Illustrated and beyond before purchasing "the very best."  And good gawd what they can do with their meat. 

Meat has always given me the heebie-jeebies.  Sure, I've made some bangin' dishes over the years: grandma's meatballs, lasagna, Moroccan chicken or beef tagine, lamb, and even a beef tenderloin one year for Christmas dinner.  No fear.  In Europe I'll eat carpaccio or tartare like it's going out of style faster than Lady Gaga's meat dress.  Truth be told, I don't even keep meat in my freezer.  If a meat course is on the menu I will buy it that day and take all necessary precautions against cross-contamination of cutting boards, knives, and the subsequent killing of any dinner guests.  Otherwise, without a reliable recipe I will generally overcook my chicken.  I avoid pork altogether or cook it into submission. Oh, and I don't "do" whole turkey for Thanksgiving.  Never have, never wanted to, probably never will be so inclined as to plunge my digits up a turkey's dead, cold bunghole.

Prolonged exposure to the kitchen environments of foodie (hawt) men and their various meat pen thermometer thingamajigs have since helped me find my own meat balls when it comes to cooking with more proteins of the once walking around variety. Aye, the days of continually cutting into meat to gauge visual "pinkness" as it corresponds to "doneness" are over. 


It's internal temperature that matters and mine is certainly raised when a man has one hand on his All-Clad pan while the other reaches for his meat thermometer.  I'll admit I was gifted one by someone who had an extra one laying around (like the iPhone).  I straight up asked if this was to mitigate "extra dead" meat specials at chez moi in the future.  They straight up responded, "Yes."

Hint taken.  I've since cooked pork roast to perfection.  In fact, I'm playing with my meat pen right now.  Does anyone care what the current internal temperature of my turkey, bison, and beef meatballs are?  Didn't think so, but I'm still chuffed to bits to report ANYWAY they are simmering away in a garlicky marinara hot tub at the FDA-recommended (for poultry) 165 degrees.

I know, "Welcome to the 21st Century, Val."

Back to my studying.  With the my dinner guests now safe from rogue meatballs, I can go back to concentrating on my wine notes.  Here's hoping I make less of an ass of myself on Sunday's written exams than I most likely will on the blind tastings.