4

4 is the number of $25 New York Strip steaks that my grandmother sent back to the kitchen because the chef couldn't get it done medium-rare. Let me set the scene - packed Red Lobster earlier today during main dinner hour. The first two steaks were cooked so well that there was not a drip of juice left in it, the third - so raw that I swear I heard it moo as the waitress dropped it on her plate. The waitress, Tiffany, with a deep raspy voice, loud boistrous manner, and sturdy appeal, laughed and said she was having the time of her life "screaming at the cooks after taking so much of their shit for so long".