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You ever notice how ordering a steak is like a high-stakes poker game? The waiter comes over, and suddenly you're trying to read their facial expressions like, "Is this ribeye bluffing or is it the real deal?
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Ordering a steak is a lot like playing Blackjack. You're hoping for a perfect 21, but sometimes you end up with a bust, and all you can do is blame the dealer – or in this case, the chef.
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You know you're an adult when you get excited about buying a good set of steak knives. It's like, "Wow, these will really come in handy for cutting the toughest thing I ever cook—pizza.
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I recently heard someone say they like their steak well-done. It's like they're saying, "I want to taste the charred memories of the cow's past lives." I just can't relate; I prefer my steak with a bit more moo.
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Have you ever noticed that the size of a steak is directly proportional to how much you pretend to be a caveman? The bigger the steak, the more you feel like you should be eating it with a club in hand, grunting proudly.
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Grilling a perfect steak is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. You're just turning it around, hoping it all comes together, and in the end, you're either a genius or ordering takeout.
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Steak is the only thing you order where the doneness level has its own language. "I'll have the medium-rare, please, but could you make it speak French?
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I like my steaks how I like my relationships—medium-rare. Because who needs commitment when you can have a juicy steak without any strings attached?
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I was at a fancy restaurant the other day, and they asked how I wanted my steak cooked. I said, "Like my life—rarely well done." The waiter didn't find it as amusing as I did.
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