I put the skillet on the burner, the front one, and turned up the gas to medium. I prefer cast iron skillets when bone-in ribeyes grace the menu. I ground a dozen peppercorns in a mortar and pestle and removed the cover to the sugar bowl in which I keep real salt, the kosher grind type, ancient with minerals. I poured organic olive oil into the skillet. I aim for a sixteenth of an inch coating, the minimum. Into the skillet went three strips of bacon cut into half-inch pieces. I love the smell of hickory smoked bacon as it sizzles in olive oil. I rubbed the ground peppercorn and mineral salt onto both sides of the ribeye. I waited until half the bacon fat rendered out, and laid the ribeye in the center of the skillet where the olive oil and bacon action took place. I turned over the ribeye to sear the remaining side before I placed it on a grill over white-hot coals on the barbecue. This ribeye deserved to get a decent char on. I heard ancestral grunts of Neanderthals in my head as the scene over the coals intensified. The coals spat flames of fat in a culinary display of fireworks. I smeared pasture-raised ghee to fatten my ribeye up for serving. Cremini mushrooms had been sautéed in the drippings at the bottom of the skillet and kept my ribeye company as I plated my dinner. I ate alone, one bite after another because that’s the way it is for me, but with Hank singing in the background, I reckon dad watches over me while mom smiles down upon me. Damn, that ribeye hit the spot.