Well done, and not giving a damn about hurting anyone's feelings, stepping on toes, offending overly delicate senses, or any other nonsense of the sort. You can keep the pinkies in the air refinement, your lobster bib, your snooty waiter/waitress, I want my steak the way of the primitives. I want a big damn chunk of animal flesh burned over a raging fire.
I might not have stalked and speared the delicious beast, cut it apart and built the fire, but it doesn't mean I can't enjoy it the way that it was intended. Which includes not having to hear people whine about their steak not being pink enough for their delicate pallete, or how their whine cooler perfectly compliments their steak.
I want a big fat fluffy biscuit to my left. I want a big salad with egg and chicken for the poultry genocide, something alcoholic, several now finished bowls of french onion soup spread out going to the right. I want my steak burned to perfection, served with a big baked potato, by a waitress I have to wonder if she is hitting on me. All in a restaurant that is darkened, sitting on a hill by itself, overlooking the city but feeling a million miles away. If that steak comes with some melted bleu cheese, mushrooms, and bacon all over it, then even better. Oh...wait...that reminds me of this place over here. ;D