First meal in Arles at the obligatory “cute little place with the frenchest French people” (read in a simpering tone):
Zahra orders steak, which she likes well-done, and it comes “blue" -- i.e. ceremonially cooked. When I ask to have the steak cooked a little bit more, the proprietor replies (in French): “No, you cannot eat it that way. This is the meat of the bull -- the bull, he fights a lot and is very very tough. Big muscles. If we cook it more, it will not be good. I am sorry, it cannot be done. It would be toooo . . . terrible.”
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