This is a totally straightforward OP here, folks: “Is ordering a well-done steak a sign of a lack of sophistication?” to which the answer in an unqualified “Of course it is–don’t be silly.”
To judge from how some of you are respondng to the OP, though, you’d think it asked “Is ordering a well-done steak a sign of stupidity, poor breeding, genetic inferiority, crummy personal hygiene, generations of inbreeding, or of ingesting your food through the wrong aperture?”
I don’t really get why those of you who like your steak extra-crunchy, with a fine soupcon of an ashy undertaste, don’t simply accept that in this one regard you’re unsophisticated, instead of insisting “Hey, Bozo, I’m plenty sophisticated, yo?”
Despite having some refined tastes, I (for example) am horribly unsophisticated in some ways, and being so described is fine with me. For a current example, I am sitting as I type this post in my BVDs (or Hanes, maybe) watching a World Series game on TV while eating pineapple out of a can (I am using a fork, not my fingers, to fish out the chunks, but still…) This may be the height of my personal pleasure for the week (sad, innit?) and I will defend it on several grounds, none of them the claim that it is very sophisticated behavior.
I may hold several advanced degrees, stand at (certainly towards) the top of my profession, have earned the respect of some sophisticated people, but I’m just not gonna claim eating pineapple out of a can while watching baseball in my shorts qualifies in any way as sophisticated. Not–gunna–do–it.
Now, as to the claim that chefs who give their unsophisticated clientele inferior cuts of meat–absolutely. Every single day. Are these chefs unprofessional? Absolutely not. If you place an order insisting that any food be overcooked (say you want your broccoli boiled for twenty-five minutes), I’d say it would be unprofessional for a chef NOT to give a quick look for the oldest, most bruised, least attractive head of broccoli in the kitchen, because when your broccoli has been cooked to death (and beyond), these imperfections will not matter at all. If I owned a restaurant (and I have) and found that my chef was selecting the freshest head of broccoli to serve Mr. Twenty-Five Minutes, I’d accuse him of being wasteful of my money, and I’d tell him the next time he did that, I’d boil his ass for twenty-five minutes, at which point it would have the approximate color, texture and taste of the head of broccoli