Rare Breed

By Alan Brouilette


After my attorney and I ran the Las Vegas Half Marathon, we needed a suitable celebratory dinner.   This meant a steakhouse.  No elaborate French twelve-course, no flown-in-from-the-Sea-of-Japan sushi, no carb replenishment.   Nothing at all would do for the meal observing a thirteen-mile jog other than a couple of big slabs of meat, some serious sides, and a fat red wine.