To sear or not to sear?

After martinis at the Royalton in midtown last night, Albert and I set off the smoke alarm [which is wired not battery-operated] in my apartment at midnight while attempting to sear two slabs of New York Strip Steaks for our late dinner. Funny sight it was of me standing on two telephone books underneath the alarm, the Sunday Times magazine in hand to wave the smoke away. Surely I kept the whole building up just for a steak. But a good one it was. Having had steak for dinner last night, lunch today, and dinner again today, I think I'm proteined out. Vegetarian tomorrow.