Korean
Steak Tacos

I have made exactly one ace in my life. It happened on a Wednesday, at 2:17 in the afternoon, in front of my oldest friend, who will tell you it was luck.

It was not luck. It was a downhill putt on the fifth at PopStroke Katy, maybe thirty feet, with a gentle slope that feeds toward the cup if you start it high and trust it. I started it high. I trusted it. It rolled forever, slowing, slowing, curling, and then simply vanished, like a coin in a magician's hand.

Theo stared at the hole. Then at me. Then at the hole again. "Do it again," he said. I declined.

An ace deserves ceremony, so we took a table on the patio in the bright afternoon and I ordered the Korean steak tacos.

Corn tortillas, warm and fragrant. Marinated steak, tender and savory and deeply satisfying, the sort of bite that makes you close your eyes against your will. Cabbage crunch, crisp and cool. A drizzle of sweet sriracha aioli, creamy, sweet, then a little sting. Pico de gallo, bright and fresh. And pickled onion, sharp and pink, a final flourish.

Theo ate his in reverent silence. A tribute, I like to think.

He has since told the story at two weddings and a retirement party. In his version, the ball hit a leaf. There was no leaf.