Filet Mignon
#3 of Prompts
A butcher can be an artist if they want! But best to let them do their work and not hassle them
Writing prompt this week is: You consider yourself an artist. Unappreciated and misunderstood. You'll present them with your finest masterpiece yet.
The big slab of meat was gently laid on the plastic table. The fat was trimmed away with quick, precise swipes with his razor sharp knife. A gentle slice through the end to square it up and now his work began. Smooth, precise strokes portioned the slab into steaks of equal thickness, ready to be cooked without fear one will cook faster than another. Without measuring he was able to cut to the customers specifications and took pride in it. Stacked in groups of three, he wrapped them in butcher paper and tagged them for the customer he knew well. Said customer was here weekly and specifically asked for him, such was his skill with the blade. Always the same order: 12 filet Mignon, one inch thick.
The bull finished up the order and set it aside, "order for Hanson, up!"
The next order was for some New York cuts, and his day progressed. Some people thought it strange to be of the bovine variety and working at a butcher, and being vegan at that, but he argued that it just meant he knew his meat. Fifteen years in the business, the first ten of which was spent in a slaughter house mass butchering, has honed his skill to an art form. It was his career, his passion, his life's work.
The biggest problem was meeting that special someone. Fellow herbivores were put off by his career choice and carnivores were put off by his meal choice. It was a confusing predicament, one he hadn't figured out how to remedy. He was 34 and still single. He hadn't met any omnivores in the area so he was wondering if any existed.
Being a butcher, he didn't make a great living. It was enough to get by and pay his bills and afforded him a one bedroom apartment not far from his shop. He hoped to one day own the shop but at the rate he was going it wasn't likely. That was until a reporter showed up at the shop to interview him.
She was bovine, much like himself, and stunning, at least according to his senses. It was a slow time of day and no one was waiting for their orders so he was permitted to come up front.
"The man behind the meat! Tell me, do you know a mister Greg Hanson?"
"Ah, yes. Mister Hanson. He is a regular. He has been coming in and buying twelve filet Mignon steaks, one inch thick, for the past two years every Thursday. It was clockwork! One of our best customers."
"He has mentioned as much. He thought it was the funniest thing "buying beef from beef," as he put it. Actually we had asked a few customers about that and they agreed that it was rather humorous. What is your opinion on the matter?"
The big bull huffed, clearly agitated, "if they think it so funny what I do for a profession then they should seek out a different butcher."
"Why did you become a butcher? What was your reasoning for such an odd profession?"
"Anyone can apply themselves to a skill. Mine just happens to be with the knife."
She asked a few more questions that just irritated him further before leaving to do whatever it was she intended. So everyone laughed at him for being a butcher, did they? He would show them. They won't be laughing for long!
The problem was he couldn't figure out how to stop the laughing. He actually heard it now. As soon as a group of them stepped out of the shop the jokes started. None of them were original or clever which made it even more infuriating. "That bull has got the beef!" "I'd like a slab of that!" "I wonder what cut he would recommend." Actually that last one he wasn't sure was a joke or not, but seeing as how he didn't eat it, it wasn't something he could do. He just wanted to do his job and go back to the way things were before.
The final straw was when mister Hanson returned the next Thursday on his normal day. He placed the same order as always but this time the bull was listening.
"Is the beef in today? Just make sure he cuts my steaks even. They need to be perfect!"
The steaks were perfect. They were ALWAYS perfect. And today was no different. It was amazing how a person acted. Here he thought mister Hanson was a nice, upstanding gentleman. Instead he was a crotchety miser. The final straw was what he said on his way out.
"That cow better not have messed up my steaks!"
Something in him snapped. This was enough. He knew now what he needed to do. It would drain some of his savings, but it needed to be done.
A week later he was opening a package from the restaurant supply. Inside was exactly what he wanted! A new filet knife, a butchers knife, and some sharpening stones. Tonight started the payback. The first stop was mister Hanson's house.
His older car was certainly ill fitting in front of the large home he parked in front of. A quick knock on the door and Hanson answered the door.
"What are you doing here? How did you get my address?"
"You'd be surprised what was in the phone book and online. I came to see how those steaks were doing?"
"Get out of here before I call the cops." He tried to shut the door but the bull's meaty hand stopped it halfway. He was glaring at the wolf called Greg Hanson.
"You don't understand. I want to check on your steaks." The bull reached out with his other hand and covered the wolf's face to prevent any screaming, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. It would be hours before he stepped back out again.
The next day at work, the front man turned on news radio, "they're calling him the butcher! Mister Greg Hanson was found dead this morning by his son who had come to visit. He had said there were no tears shed and mister Hanson had many enemies but it was still a gruesome sight. He said, and I quote, "it looked like a meat market in there". Back to you Rob!"
The bull tuned out the rest of the transmission and thought to himself, maybe, just maybe they will learn his name. Jeffrey.