Just do me a favor and never order a steak well-done. I have it on good authority that whenever a chef at a steak restaurant gets an order for a well done steak, he walks over to a nearby trashcan where, under all of the garbage, he keeps a stockpile of some of last week’s worst cuts of meat. After he pulls the nastiest one out, he spits on it a few times, and then he throws it on the grill until all that’s left is a charred blackened piece of coal. Then he puts on some parsley and sends it out to be served. It’s true, I swear.