Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook: Petaluma

A lesson learned last night: You can never buy too many steaks if you buy steaks as amazing as the ones my father bought. Rib steaks, beautifully marbled, two inches thick, tender as . . . how do professional food writers do it?

You couldn't quite cut these steaks with a fork, but they were tender as. . .

They were really, really tender.

Herewith, a drastically condensed version of events:

Tipsy Baker: "For an appetizer, I brought these Hunanese sweet-and-sour spareribs from Fuchsia Dunlop's Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook. They were a specialty of Xiaoxiang Jiujia, a leading Changsha restaurant of the 1930s."

(I didn't actually say that, but Dunlop does.)

Justine: "These are delicious."

John: "Do you think I bought too much steak?"

Justine: "No."

Mark: "These are Chinese ribs. I prefer plain ribs."

Stella: "Play Doh is not for eating."

Michael: "I'll have some of that Zin."

Tipsy Baker: "It's hard not to drink tonight."

John: "Do you really think I should cut all these steaks?"

Tipsy Baker: "Yes!"

Michael: "My father had gout. It was the rich man's disease, but he wasn't rich. We called him Fat Foot."

Justine: "Let's open another bottle of wine."

Isabel: "Can I have some more steak, please?"

Mark: "Christine Babcock ran a really fast mile."

Owen: "More steak!"

Tipsy Baker: "Say please."

Stella: "I spit it out." (She spits a pound of masticated corn into Michael's hand.)

Owen: "That's so funny."

Tipsy Baker: "I'm thinking of using Round-Up to keep back the weeds in my yard."

Justine: "You should try boiling water on the weeds."

John: "Don't be absurd! There's a water shortage."

Justine: "Who's absurd!"

Stella: "I want steak!"

Tipsy Baker: "I guess I'll have just a little more steak."

Michael: "I don't like cardamom cake, so pass me more steak."

John: "I feel bad because I always serve you the same thing. Do you think my menus are too boring?"

Everyone: "No!"

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