Almost doesn't count

Just occasionally you eat a dish in a restaurant that is so good that it ruins everything. It used to be something you cooked at home, or would order elsewhere, but not any more. You've seen how good it can be and you know nothing else will suffice. Trying to recreate is an exercise in futility and disappointment.

So it was last night. We had perfectly fine ribeye steak, cooked just as rare as I like it but good as it was it just didn't match up to the what I ate at Hawksmoor back in June. Up until that meal, I was always a bit ambivalent about steak but now I am the worst sort of convert; evangelical, puritanical and obsessive. Now I love steak - as long as it is the Ginger Pig's 28 day Longhorn beef with Heston-inspired thrice cooked chips and textbook bearnaise.

Last night's was almost as good but, now, almost doesn't count.