No matter how hard I try, I cannot escape the gravitational tug of that charcoal-briquette-filled enameled black hole that sits out on the patio. It draws me near and then pulls me in. All summer I have been training with the most compliant of beef, flank steaks, practicing my moves, building up my confidence for this final weekend of summer when I will ride the ribeye! Am I ready to take on the steak that defies easy grilling? I cannot say. It is an unpredictable cut, too thick for searing, but marbled enough to go up in flames in an instant. I admit that for the last six weeks I have found myself laying awake at night wrapped up in mind games. 'Lid on? Lid off? Do I let it lie or turn it frequently? And what of marinades?' Already this carne asada is making me loco. Such is the way of the wily ribeye. I hear it calling me out to the patio, bewitching me. I flex my tongs and ready for the danza del fuego. Let us hope that I come away from experience unscorched.