Getting My Game Face On

Chandra Ram

I grew up in the absolute plainest of meat-eating households. If it was chicken, it was a boneless, skinless breast. Cows made it to the table in the form of hamburgers or the occasional beef Wellington (my mom is Irish). Pork appeared once every few years at Easter as a roast, but more often as a chop (cooked to 180 degrees F so that we didn’t get trichinosis, natch). Everything was cooked to well-done or beyond (see...