Real men eat buffalo, dammit!

James Garner is a metrosexual. Hard to believe, I know, considering the maverick actor shilled for beef — “Real food for real people!” — and survived quadruple by-pass surgery after a long career kicking butt (though not cigarette butts) with manly panache, most notably as Jim Rockford. But next to Steven Rinella, James Garner is a cologne-wearing-brie-eating-smooth-jazz-listening-hippie-dippie-free-lovin’-Dennis-Kucinich-supporting-never-married-to-Mariette Hartley-NOTEBOOK-starring nancy boy. Sorry, Jimbo. The truth hurts.(Or, maybe I’m still pissed I endured TANK.)

Steven Rinella, on the other fist, is the kind of guy Jack London revered: a true-blue-bow-and-arrow-totin’-big-game-smotin’-bathe-in-your-prey’s-blood-drink-your-own-pee-hunky-he-man who’d sooner skin his own meal than skim a few benjamins off his bankroll for some petite sirloin slider and truffle-oiled tater tots at some chi-chi eatery where the waiters are all named Percival or Highsberry and wear mauve waistcoats.

In his first book, The Scavenger’s Guide to Haute Cuisine, Rinella hunted down — and slaughtered when necessary — all the ingredients to (re)create a 3-day, 45-course hoity-toity beast-feast as dictated by Escoffier‘s archaic(?) Le Guide Culinaire. In his latest tome, American Buffalo: In Search of a Lost Icon, the rugged Outdoor journalist is one of only 25* people to win the annual lottery to bag a bison in Alaska. Not only can readers follow his trail, we can also learn more about ourselves through Rinella’s sharp analysis of our nation’s shameful relationship with the noble creatures. American Buffalo reads like the greatest history book/sportsman’s bible ever, as if Hemingway had pointed his shotgun just a little further outward and lived to tell this incredible tale of a modern-day Davy Crockett with the hear of Walt Whitman.

Now, Mr. Rinella will face his greatest challenge; he will be grilled by yours truly at Words & Wine at The Pan Pacific Hotel. Thanks to Kim Ricketts Book Events, you’ll get to listen in, enjoy free wine courtesy of Chateau St. Michelle, free food courtesy of Seastar and get free, autographed copy of American Buffalo. Now, as you are all aware I am one tough sunuvagun and I won’t back off Rinella as easy as some 600-pound grizzly or some free-food-poachin’-personal-space-encroachin’-white-knucklin’-knees-bucklin’ print journalist. James Garner sold us: Beef. It’s what’s for dinner. Come March 26th, I may have a prime steak for dinner, but I’ll make l’il Rinella my amuse bouche! He better bring his A-game and his Bowie knife ’cause I’ve got a taste for blood, my friends.

Please note that once you have purchased your tickets for this literary smackdown, you are to forget you ever read this post and, most certainly, you must not mention this to Mr. Rinella. Pretty please? Okay, I confess. I’m not as bad-ass as you may imagine. When I interviewed Robert Conrad, I didn’t even dare knock that battery off his shoulder… even though he begged me to. Alright, stop hassling me, I’m a wimp. There. I said it. Satisfied? Sheesh, you guys are brutal.

*And one more thing, when you watch today’s THINK piece below, please understand that I simply mispronounced 25 and it came out sounding like 4. Big deal. What are you going to do? Get Mike Leigh to correct me?