Lost in Starvation: Blackened T-Bone with Root Beer BBQ Sauce

July 27, 2010

So maybe I did just start grabbing all these recipe cards off the rack in the grocery store because the cute girl standing next to me would think I was a renowned home cook, and not better known for routinely exploding my kitchen or putting something on the stove and then sitting in another room for 45 minutes as the apartment fills with wrong-smelling smells.

But the Blackened T-Bone and its impossible sauce were going to take more from me than any recipe before it, which is to say, the paint by numbers chicken recipe my mom wrote on an index card I made last week.

"I know the bottles under the sink are brightly colored, honey, but don't drink them."

It wasn’t until I was standing in the kitchen with the ingredients assembled that I realized I needed to marinate the steak for an hour beforehand.  Well, I’m hungry, so we’re just going to skip that part.  Also I don’t have any olive oil.  Actually, let’s just do this:


  • 6-8 oz. grilling steak
  • 2 tbsp. olive oil
  • 1 cup root beer
  • 1 cup ketchup
  • 1/4 cup orange juice
  • 1/4 cup lemon juice
  • 3 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
  • 3 tbsp. brown sugar
  • 2 tbsp. molasses
  • 1 garlic clove, minced
  • 1/2 tsp. ginger, onion powder, and black pepper
  • 1 tbsp. hot sauce


  • The steak
  • 1 cup root beer
  • 1 cup ketchup
  • 1/4 cup orange juice
  • 3 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
  • 3 tbsp. from sack of sugar I discovered in top cupboard; may have been here when we moved in
  • 2 tbsp. “Log Cabin” $1.79 maple syrup (same thing as molasses, right?)
  • None of the seasonings
  • Too much hot sauce

The first problem I ran into was–wait, this is supposed to be cooked on a grill?!  I looked out the window at the tailgating grill my friend had left on our porch several weeks before.  We had joked about getting incinerated straight off the deck and into the crack alley below, but it was only funny because he knew what in god’s name he was doing, and the chances of that scenario unfolding in reality were pretty small.

I opted for the oven.  It seemed the only way to keep people alive.  For once.

I spent ten minutes wondering if the one measuring cup I found in a drawer could be a tbsp., as it had no label or indication of its size.  I looked at the bottom, which just read “30.”  That as no help.  As I usually do when I’m panicking about my igornace of something I should know by now, I turned to Wikipedia, and as it usually does, it came through.

After combining it all in a “medium sauce pan,” I went on to drop the stirring spoon several dozen times, spewing an increasingly viscous sauce onto more and more of the floor/stove/my pants.  I was forced midway through to sprint into my room and change.  Yeah.  It was that intense.

As my roommate went to make use of my preheated to 400 degrees oven for his nightly frozen chicken, he asked what in the hell I was doing, as I stood over what I assumed was a table spoon measuring cup, slamming my fist into the back of an impossible bottle of hot sauce.

“I’m making a sauce,” I replied.  I looked across the apartment to where my soiled cargos were slung up on the couch, realizing that the results of my time in the kitchen were resembling a violent crime scene more and more.

"No, no... THAT'S the blood. THAT's the ketchup."

Eventually, I had my cow slab painted just the way I like it, and into the oven she went.  Once again, it certainly made the apartment smell better as it cooked, and this was after I had gone out of my way to buy a $0.99 air freshener to cover up the smell of the garbage we couldn’t take out because we didn’t have any garbage bags.

Paired with a side of sauteed asparagus and instant mashed potatoes (“IDAHO SPUDS” none of this other crap), this was a fine-tasting meal.  My fear was that the meat would be undercooked, or still mooing, and to be honest, I don’t have an extensive enough palate to know what this was supposed to taste like.  But it was certainly edible, and I avoided both starvation and a crippling kitchen accident for another night.


Blackened T-Bone with Root Beer BBQ Sauce:  So good I ran into another room and took my pants off.

Next week:  Rude Chicken

TwitterFacebookDeliciousDiggGoogle ReaderGoogle GmailGoogle BookmarksFriendFeedLinkedInMySpaceStumbleUponYahoo MailPosterousTechnorati FavoritesAIMBlogger PostShare

Shop Fan Follow Contact Subscribe


3 Responses to “ Lost in Starvation: Blackened T-Bone with Root Beer BBQ Sauce ”

  1. Melissa Sachs on July 28, 2010 at 1:56 am

    “Well, I’m hungry, so we’re just going to skip that part.”


    “The first problem I ran into was–wait, this is supposed to be cooked on a grill?!…”

    Um, wasn’t that like the 3rd or 4th problem you ran into? Did your mom write that card out for you or did you take the original? It’s probably a good thing you have a digital copy. You know. In case you wanna do it again.

  2. Justin on July 28, 2010 at 9:20 am

    Hey, if you look closely, that recipe card is actually a recipe for “corn beef casserole.” So none of this really makes ANY sense.

  3. Melissa on July 28, 2010 at 1:30 pm

    Oh, oops! hahaha

Leave a Reply