ooooooooh, thick steak, good stuff . . .
we have a local butcher shop.
so, this guy (me) walks in the door and stretches out his arms
(think: the fish that got away . . .)
and there's this chorus of giggles.
by now they all know I'm talking thick . . . uhmm, well, thick or more than three ribs...
before the giggle echo fades somebody is headed into the reefer pushing a cart and coming out with the biggest hunk of (whatever) been's curing/drying/aging a while.....
I guess I'm a good customer. pay cash. buy good stuff.
he's always happy to see me and satisfy my "needs"
ps:
pps:
none of this works in the supermarket . . . .