How to cook a steak (French style)
My wife and I went to France last week and had a very nice time thanks. Really relaxing, as this time, we didn't rush all over the place visiting everything within a 50 mile radius. No, we just put the bikes on the carrier and used them all the time once we got there.
The days consisted mainly of cycle to town, get some bread, cycle back, have breakfast. Cycle to town have lunch, have a beer, cycle back. Cycle to town to the nearest bar, watch the footie and have a few more beers. Cycle back - carefully.
One day we even ventured 10km to a small town inland by way of the cycle track which ran alongside the dykes and rivers.
"Oh look, a brown beaver!"
The large furry rodent sitting on the path gave us a withering look before gently gliding into the stream. Unfortunately, all the subsequent beaver jokes fell completely flat when we found out later it was Coypu. Such is life.
On the last night however, we decided to have a "proper" French meal. Cycling to the restaurant was fun as we were in posh frocks and full slap. Much to my wife's annoyance I used tie-down straps as makeshift cycle clips - she made me get off, remove the straps and walk the last 100m out of sight of the hotel.
I ordered the steak. The waiter didn't speak any English and somehow my translation of medium-rare came out as saignant1. I thought my pointing to the red carnation on the table and holding my thumb and forefinger 1mm apart together was clear enough - apparently not.
In France, to get a bleu steak you chase the cow around the field for a bit and then that's the steak hot enough. To get saignant you take the aforementioned bleu steak and rest it on the headlamp of your Citroen 2CV for a minute, or, until the battery goes flat - same thing.
Later on, the waiter who did speak English told me I should have asked for Rosé. Ah yes, I want a medium-rare steak, so I order a bottle of wine, obvious really, silly me.
1Rare
The days consisted mainly of cycle to town, get some bread, cycle back, have breakfast. Cycle to town have lunch, have a beer, cycle back. Cycle to town to the nearest bar, watch the footie and have a few more beers. Cycle back - carefully.
One day we even ventured 10km to a small town inland by way of the cycle track which ran alongside the dykes and rivers.
"Oh look, a brown beaver!"
The large furry rodent sitting on the path gave us a withering look before gently gliding into the stream. Unfortunately, all the subsequent beaver jokes fell completely flat when we found out later it was Coypu. Such is life.
On the last night however, we decided to have a "proper" French meal. Cycling to the restaurant was fun as we were in posh frocks and full slap. Much to my wife's annoyance I used tie-down straps as makeshift cycle clips - she made me get off, remove the straps and walk the last 100m out of sight of the hotel.
I ordered the steak. The waiter didn't speak any English and somehow my translation of medium-rare came out as saignant1. I thought my pointing to the red carnation on the table and holding my thumb and forefinger 1mm apart together was clear enough - apparently not.
In France, to get a bleu steak you chase the cow around the field for a bit and then that's the steak hot enough. To get saignant you take the aforementioned bleu steak and rest it on the headlamp of your Citroen 2CV for a minute, or, until the battery goes flat - same thing.
Later on, the waiter who did speak English told me I should have asked for Rosé. Ah yes, I want a medium-rare steak, so I order a bottle of wine, obvious really, silly me.
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| A wet, brown |
1Rare
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