(This first ran in Gannett papers Sunday, January 20, 2019. It gets to the meat of the matter.)

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend with two old friends flying and driving into Little Rock with only four things to do together in roughly 24 hours: crack jokes, eat a great steak, eat fried catfish, and watch midget wrestling at home plate before the minor-league baseball game.

What could possibly go wrong?

It was Little Rock and I was involved so … the odds for us were not good.

Seeing the guys was the best. We could not believe that, after a few years of talking about it, we actually met up for a weekend. We were a little too happy, but that worried us for only a minute or two. We let our wives know we had arrived fine and began walking likes kids to a carnival toward the steakhouse.

Let’s say it was “Joe’s Fine Steaks.” That’s not its name but it is known for its fine steaks and that is what it hangs its culinary hat on. I could not have been more excited than if someone had said they’d pay my house note this month.

We saw the neon sigh. Glory!

Of course no nice steakhouse has Thousand Island dressing so that was a bummer, but I knew that going in. Thousand Island is the poor man’s dressing and not served in nice places because nice places serve people who have money and have risen above Thousand Island. They have adapted vinaigrette and bleu cheese palates.

So I skipped the salad and ate bread. I asked the waiter for more butter. Things were going swimmingly.

She was actually very kind and didn’t look at me as if I were a guy who didn’t enjoy vinaigrette. She looked at me as if I were a guy who could not really afford to be there without saving up for a couple of months, which was right. I had a bad culinary experience that night but tipped big.

Gosh how I love a server who understands.

Now it was time to throw out the first pitch. I probably have not made it clear that this was about the most anticipated night of the year. I eat steak once every four months, maybe once every three if I’m lucky. I love it. Although most of the time, I am disappointed. The last really good steak I had was December 23, 2015, Capital Grille on Main Street, 800 block, Fort Worth. I can see it. I can taste it.

None of that is helping me now.

So at this Little Rock place, they brought me my steak. My disappointment was disheartening. I ate five or six pieces, wanted to convince myself it was good. And failed.

The waitress saw me struggling and offered to help. “Maybe cook it a bit more?” I said, feeling bad about it, knowing I had no business in a Nice Steak Place anyway.

They did. Didn’t help. So now, for goodness sakes, the manager approached. I told him my potato was off the charts. Stuffed with cheese and bacon and sour cream and …

“That’s awesome,” he said. “But the sign doesn’t say ‘Joe’s Fine Potatoes.’ It says ‘Joe’s Fine Steaks.’ I’m not charging you.”

“Well,” I said, feeling bad about it but not so bad that I didn’t take him up on his offer. Saved me 40-plus bucks.

The Steak Game is a tough one, no pun intended. I am trying to learn how to cook one this year. It’s my mission. Now and then I get it Just Right on the grill, but more often than not, I don’t. I am trying to be man enough to admit it.

Are any other men out there in the same boat? Am I the only one?

I toyed with the idea of getting one of those ceramic grills that cost 800-ish bucks or so but if I can’t afford steak I can’t afford the nice Egg thing to cook them on. Still, I wanted one. I asked a friend’s opinion and told him all the guys who had one said their Grilling Woes Days were over.

And he told me: “Who is going to pay $800 for a smoker/grill and admit they still can’t cook a steak?”

Made me feel better. I will soldier on. And I will remember that I spent a day with two good friends, which is all that really matters. I tasted the good life.

We are now out of room and time, but about the midget wrestling/wrasslin’, here’s the short version: it was the same as the steak. Pretty tough.

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