I have protein on the brain. A recent visit to a great New York steakhouse and some remarks by a superstar chef have me thinking in loop-de-loops about steak house, Americans’ addiction to meat and—gak!—global warming.

Protein metabolized from food intake is essential to proper brain function. Proteins don’t make up the neurons of our brain, but they are the building blocks of amino acids that form the connections between neurons. So protein in the diet is essential to brain brilliance, the hormones and enzymes that control bodily processes, proper growth, shiny and luxurious hair…the works.

But of course Americans eat far too much protein, increasing the cholesterol and fat in our diet. That scolding we’ve all heard before, literally ad nauseum, but I was intrigued by something Chef Mario Batali said in an interview with my fellow blogger/beer diva/assistant tasting director Lauren Buzzeo. The article doesn’t appear until our February issue so I don’t want to pre-empt, but he talks about how much American food culture’s tilt toward protein has an environmental impact too—all of the earth’s resources we use up to cultivate and transport our meaty proteins, not to mention the methane that our beloved cows produce in such windy abundance.

None of this crossed my mind for a millisecond last weekend as I enjoyed a superb meal at Peter Luger, considered by many to be the finest steak house in New York, if not the country. I was with my family so didn’t have a care in the world, but even if not, really: a steak house is no place to voice worries about the future of Spaceship Earth. Surrounded by suspender-flashing, money-flush Wall Streeters and the Women Who “Love” Them, dealing with waiters for whom gruffness is a union requirement, they’d laugh you out of the place. God’s truth: I once ordered the chicken at a steak house (a diet thing, don’t ask) and the waiter refused to serve it. Muy macho.

Seriously, though: the menus are so limited, the food is, how shall I say, without nuance. In short, steak house culture is not for me. I say this with apologies to my good friend who is a manager at Smith & Wollensky. I have enjoyed many an evening there at its midtown Manhattan location, ogling celebrities and supermodels, watching my buddy down a martini the size of a hot tub and enjoying great steaks and the world’s finest hash browns (buttery, creamy yet crunchy, sublimely delicious and won’t harm the ozone).

I’m glad that, for the sake of wallet, waistline and my own preference for culinary complexity, steak houses must remain occasional. I’m pleased that in some way, perhaps, some day, Americans’ more balanced, more Mediterranean-like diet will help restore the ozone layer.

There is only one regret. Many a fine, full-bodied, deep-fruited, silky-tannined red wine meets its first, best destiny washing down a steak.

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