SANS SANG S'IL VOUS PLAIT...

I spent most of this evening wrestling with a purple sinewy mass of steak entrecote. It was my own fault. I asked for it medium when as everyone knows in France that means dripping with blood, flash fried for a minute on each side.

All I could think of when attacking it was the skill required for serial killers to cut up their victims.
Having neither the sharpened canines or sufficiently sharpened steak knife to make much of a dent in it I conceded defeat and happily demolished the huge slab of gratin dauphinois that came with it.

When I was waiting to be seated, the waiter emerged from the kitchen with a huge blob of chocolate on the edge of his mouth. He showed me to my table. He kept licking the other side. So I said, 'Vous avez chocolat' in my best pidgeon French and pointed to the spot. From then on we had some kind of bond. He repaid me for saving him from further embarrassment by re filling my glass of wine at least 3 times, then only charging me for one.