Last night, my husband and I were lying in bed, watching Paula Deen fry up country fried steak on the Food Network.

“I love country fried steak,” I sighed.

“Me, too,” my husband said.

I was surprised to learn that this man with whom I’ve been sharing meals for nearly 25 years enjoys country fried steak. The only meat I’ve seen him eat and enjoy has come off a grill.

I quit frying nearly everything, except the occasional burger, years ago, but upon this revelation, I decided that it was time to pull out the iron skillet, fry up some steak, stir up some gravy, bake a batch of buttermilk biscuits and enjoy some real comfort food.

I baked a double batch of biscuits this morning, fed the masses, and wrapped up the leftovers to warm up for dinner. I headed off to the gym where I damn-near killed myself on the treadmill to try to get ahead for the pig-out session ahead of me. I knew that the gravy was going to land straight on my thighs.

After a quick trip to Kroger for a package of pounded round steak, I was busy in the kitchen, cutting the meat to soak in buttermilk. I was going to do this right. Sarah had already told me that the biscuits she’s had earlier were the “best freakin’ biscuits” she’d ever had, and I just knew that my husband would tell me the same about this steak. I seasoned flour, pulled out the iron skillet, and kept working my plan.

Years ago, when I lived on the farm, it seems like every piece of meat we ate was fried. Chicken, pork chops, ham, beef—it all came out of an iron skillet of hot animal fat. Of course, the animal fat was actually lard that had been rendered from the last pig we’d killed. In spite of these heavy meals, we were all thin and lanky. Flash forward many years to my kitchen where I get to choose from either canola oil or olive oil. I chose the canola oil.

Maybe that’s where things went wrong. I’m really not certain. While I’d envisioned crisp, golden crusted pieces of meat, I was actually getting mybloggers pieces of beef with the breading falling off. Where’s Paula Deen when you need her? I was making a mess, but decided that I could salvage this meal with a knock-your-socks off gravy to drown the meat and biscuits. Once again—not to be. Another mybloggers mess.

I’m still not certain where I went wrong. It’s almost as if I’ve forgotten everything my mom and grandma taught me.

Tomorrow night, I’ll stick to what I know best—grilled meat, steamed vegetables, and salad. I’m still a scratch baker, so I’ll bake a cake that will make everybody forget that I just can’t fry anymore.