I lived for a spell in Huntington, West Virginia, and at the center of its business district was a wonderful little café I remember as serving nearly the best country-style steak I’d ever had. Every time I ate it, I was reminded of home when I was living a long way from Chattanooga and, looking back on it, perhaps a little homesick.
So whenever that feeling hit, all I had to do was drive into town, sit at the counter and order country-style steak where plastic-sheathed menus were tucked between the ketchup and mustard in the condiment caddy. Few people ever looked at the menu, though. Instead, they opted for the daily specials written on a dusty old chalkboard that hung over the griddle. That’s where the daily homespun specials were scrawled in the cook’s familiar handwriting.
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I always got a chuckle when I got to the daily “vegetables.” Only in the South do we consider mac and cheese and rice and gravy as vegetables. But there you go.
After a couple of attempts going for the country-style steak on Monday or Wednesday, I learned it was only available on Thursdays. That’s when I called my mother for her recipe, one that I continue to make today.