I like a steak, big and bloody, but I can't swing a thirty dollar rib-eye right now. Same goes for a forty buck filet. Add a few martinis and double the bill because of course my girl is sitting there prettying the joint up, and the end result is my landlord calling to ask why my rent check is 150 bones short.

The good old red and white.

That's where Mr. Prime Beef comes in -- when you're craving that thick piece of red and  The good old red and white white, that soft pink protein just settling in and making you strong. This Old Seward butcher, slinging steaks in Anchorage since 1973, is the answer.

It's still not any kind of dirt-cheap, sure, but it's worth it, and there are two main advantages to cooking this kind of weight at home.

The first is that eating red-rare beef in the kind of quantities I'm talking about lays down an incredible base for the kind of drinking best done at home. The last time I served steaks, the five of us went through three bottles of wine and one of whisky, which is impressive even when you consider how massive two of my buddies are.

Second, talking meat with a butcher is about as fun as it gets. It's like discussing planes with a pilot or bread with a baker. Speaking eye-to-eye with a butcher, there's just a level of carnivore understanding that's unachievable when you're looking up at a waiter.

When I went shopping for the boozy party I mentioned above, the butcher explained that a porterhouse is just a t-bone with a nice filet hanging off the left-hand side of the T. Since the T-bones Mr. Prime Beef had in that day happened to have been cut with generous filets left on, I was able to pick up some porterhouse cuts for my guests at t-bone prices ($9.99 a pound).

Still, all that talk of porters and T's is a bit academic as far as I'm concerned. All I eat are rib-eyes, boneless and fatty. And at only $10.99 a pound, I can down half a calf's worth and still make rent.