The Best Grilled Steak

I can grill a mean steak. Even though I first learned my way around a grill by flipping burgers and chicken at Round the Corner restaurant in my teens, I already knew how a grill worked. During lunch and dinner rushes, I had to manage a packed grill. At times you couldn’t even see the grates because I had so many items cooking away.

I handled everything from burgers so rare they practically mooed to well-done hockey pucks. It was a juggling act, requiring timing, precision, and focus. I had to put fresh patties on, flip the half-done burgers at just the right moment, and pull others off before they overcooked. It felt like I needed four hands, but somehow, I pulled it off. And honestly? I was good.

Eventually, I graduated from burgers to steaks. Once I could afford better cuts of meat, I went straight for filet mignon. Considering the expense, I didn’t want to mess it up. When I got divorced, one of the first big purchases I made was my very own gas grill.

Of course, back then stores charged you to assemble it, so I decided to save money and put it together myself. How hard could it be, right? I was so wrong. When I opened the box and saw what looked like a thousand pieces, I knew I was in trouble. I am not spatial, I’m terrible with puzzles, and I can’t even read those instruction pictures. Why I thought this was a good idea is still a mystery.

Day one ended in frustration when I realized I had put several pieces on backwards. Sigh. Day two was just as long, but eventually, I got it together. Finally! Only one problem: I didn’t have a gas tank yet. So, late that day, dreaming of steak on the grill, I headed to Ace Hardware to pick one up. When I hooked it up and tried to fire it, absolutely nothing happened. Nada. Goose egg. After checking everything, I realized they had sold me an empty gas tank! Unbelievable.

Eventually, I got it sorted, and soon I was inviting my parents, my younger sister, and her boyfriend over for dinner. That night, I grilled steaks, and when my sister’s boyfriend asked how I got them so perfect, my pride swelled so much I could barely fit my head through the door.

For years, I rocked that grill and considered myself the master of the best grilled steak. But then, something happened.

I met Gary.

He claimed he could grill not just a good steak, but the best grilled steak, meaning a restaurant-quality steak. That sounded like a challenge, and I never back away from a challenge. So, the game was on.

Gary cranked the grill as hot as it would go and slapped on the steaks. The flames shot up so high I thought he was going to torch the place. I was convinced he’d burn them to a crisp. But once he got that perfect crust on the outside, he turned down the heat and let the steaks “bake.”

I had never heard of such a thing. To me, it seemed like extra work. But then he shared his secret. His friend Mike, who owns Inn at Tres Pinos in Hollister, CA, had given him the method.

And I’ll tell you what — he beat me that day. As much as it stings to admit, his steak was as good, if not better, than mine. From that day forward, Gary became the true master of the best grilled steak.

So, I did the only thing I could do: I conceded and handed over the tongs. Because if you can’t beat them, join them, right?