I was talking with–well, actually IMing with–a friend in Australia the other day, and he mentioned an expensive dinner of Wagyu steak. That didn’t ring any bells with me, so I looked it up. Turns out that Wagyu is the breed of cattle, genetically predisposed to a lot of fat-marbling, that’s the source of Kobe beef. Kobe beef, on the other hand, is sort of like Champagne–it’s only officially Kobe if it’s raised in the prefecture of Kobe in Japan. Wagyu cattle are raised in other places than Japan, including Australia, so when you’re in Australia, try some Wagyu–it’s virtually indistinguishable from Kobe beef, and a bit more affordable. The crazy price of Kobe beef–about $300 a pound–comes about because the cattle is raised on expensive Japanese land, fed expensive Japanese grain, and massaged because there’s not enough land for it to run around (when it’s still on the hoof). That reminded me of a story that actually made headlines in the St. Petersburg Times recently. It seems that a group of four went to a nice restaurant, and when the specials were read aloud, one was Kobe beef. The guests ordered it. The host, not wanting to seem crass, didn’t ask the price. The final bill was something like $800, and the person who had to pick up the tab raised a stink that he was ripped off. Final result, as I remember, was that he had to pay–essentially for being clueless. Let’s hope his guest was naive and clueless too, because otherwise how incredibly rude to order something so expensive.  I can understand people who don’t ask the price better than people who order something when they don’t know what it is, though. I think it’s a guy thing, sort of similar to not asking directions. When I was in college, I worked at the Fountain Cafe in Central Park, and we had steak tartare on the menu. At least once a week, some man–usually a young man, or a tourist from the heartland–would order it, only to be shocked, appalled or even angry when I showed up with a bowl of raw hamburger with an egg carefully broken on the top. One young man sat patiently looking at his bowl for quite a while. I left him alone, figuring he didn’t want to admit he hadn’t known what he was getting. After a while, he started looking around for me, so I asked what he needed. He asked when I was going to bring the grill; I guess he thought I’d brought him the make-your-own-hamburger kit. To help him save face in front of his girlfriend, I told him all the grills were in use and offered to cook it for him in the kitchen. He actually seemed disappointed that he wasn’t going to get to play with fire. Another guy thing, I guess.  –Mary Hunt, editor, eFlyer