Rump steak

On Monday night as I was sliding into weariness, increasingly tempted to pass the buck on dinner preparations, my father called. He's a man of few words at the best of times, but this message was to thank me for the Rostbiff steak I had sent home with mum during her visit over the weekend.

Having been at the leading edge of the Australian beef industry during his career, dad is a man that knows his meat. Knowing that I had access to some rump steaks with a marble score of eight (8) I had suggested mum take some back to Byron (where they live) for Dad.
(To put this in perspective, Kingsley's Crab and Steakhouse on Finger Wharf, Woolloomooloo boasts marble scoring of 4 on their menu - the higher the number the more valuable the meat.)

With such glowing appreciation from a man that says so little, I went to the kitchen, got the steaks I had bought for our household out of the fridge. I drizzled a little olive oil on a plate, ground some pepper and a sprinkle of horizon salt flakes, then wiped the steak through it on both sides.

I peeled and diced 4 potatoes, sliced one onion into thin wedges and sauteed them in a non-stick pan. These were later tossed with bunch of washed and cut rocket, a blob of mayonnaise seasoned with hot english mustard (tastes MUCH better than it sounds) and the juice of half a lemon.

The grocer's husband lit our little hibachi-sized weber and once the coals were ready the steak took but minutes to cook.

The result was a superb steak, hardly any cleaning up, and even this morning I knew I felt better for having eaten properly than settling for something that I thought would be, but in reality wouldn't be, easier.