There is this guy. His wife made roast beef.
The guy carved it, with the carving knife, slicing it as thinly as he could, and the family ate it.
The roast beef was really good. The guy’s wife was really good at cooking beef. Her steaks were also fantastic.
The next day, the guy looked at leftover roast beef in the fridge. It was beautiful. It had that brown-grey layer around the edge, and the healthy pink center.
It was really beautiful. He ate a slice, even though he had just eaten cereal for breakfat, and the roast beef was delicious.
It made him happy.
This is the secret of happiness, thought the guy: roast beef.
Roast beef is the secret of happiness.
His wife made him roast beef, and the roast beef made him happy. You cannot make someone happy directly. But you can make them roast beef, and the roast beef will make them happy.
Even now, a couple days later, he’s still happy.
That’s the secret.
If you’re a vegetarian, I’m sorry.
Der Weg zum Herzen eines Mannes geht durch seinen Magen :-)
It’s partly that, but also the aesthetic beauty of well-made roast beef in the cool light of the refrigerator, and to a great part the joy of witnessing someone who is good at something doing it. I like to watch my wife cook beef (not a euphemism). Yesterday I watched a workman spread mortar on the facade of a house and that was a source of joy as well – no wasted motions and the wall went from ruined-looking to fine and smooth in a few minutes.