Memories of Paris: Steak Tartare

I still think of my aborted Europe trip with sadness. Not just because of the missed sights, but also because there’s this association now between that lovely place and my personal loss. I still want to go to England and visit some old churches and light a candle in each one specifically for my grandma.

Till that happens, I remain in possession of some beautiful memories of three days in Paris, and I’d like to share them here. Today’s memory is: raw meat.

Seldom is a picture this repulsive and mouthwatering at the exact same time, yes? 

I had this hunk of steak tartare, palm-sized and inch-thick, all to my greedy little self. You can see the chopped onion, chives, capers, and, best of all, enough raw meat to distract the average vampire long enough for you to run away, unless, of course, you are a Twilight fan who would prefer to regard this as a simple appetizer.

(Raw meat is a childhood memory for me. I love the taste of bloody meat. As a small child, dinner preparation was one of the highlights of the day. I’d wait for my grandma to turn to the stove before pinching a mouthful of uncooked mincemeat or a slice of dripping liver. I ascribe the strength of my gastrointestinal system today to this practice.) 

I’m glad we found this place – a completely random occurrence based on the fact that it was one of the rare restaurants open on Sunday midday. The staff could barely understand Mr. Manx and me (and, I’m quite sure, took us for Japanese, because I heard one of them practice saying “arigatou gozaimasu“) but did their best and even kindly asked if I wanted my steak tartare boiled (to which the only correct response is a loud scream, but this would have been unacceptable in civilized society).

Clearly, though, boiling did not happen and an enjoyable meal was made of this raw beef, together with Mr. Manx’s entrecote (a perfectly done rib steak topped with smoking thyme), a cheese board and half a bottle of rose wine. I think we paid about 25-30 Euros per person, which is not expensive by Parisian standards.

This was eaten at a restaurant called Bo Zinc, which is at 59 Avenue Mozart, 75016 Paris. I don’t think they have a website, otherwise I’d link to it.

Settling in

It’s the third week into my new position at the Buffalo Farm and I’m settling in all right. It normally takes me about two months in any new posting to adjust out of the funk of unfamiliarity, so this is really good.

Much of this has to do with the work environment – I’m no longer run into the ground churning out numbers, but can take enough time with my patients so that I know them more as human beings and less as hateful statistics to chew through (when you’re scheduled to see twenty patients in two and a half hours, believe me, hate is not too strong a word for how you begin to feel toward the human race). I’m getting involved in research and media interviews, and even a play produced in conjunction with a local professional stage group, to increase awareness of the subspecialty I’m in. Work is actually pleasantly exciting for a change.

And I get alone time. This is really important to me. Part of this is due to the fact that the colleague I’m sharing office space with is abroad (confession: I actually made a typo here and typed “a broad” – something which is totally unnecessary to confess, but I thought it was funny because said colleague is really a dude) till next month, so the whole room is mine for a while. It’s wonderful. I’ve been colonizing my space slowly. I’m not done yet, but I have my super-strong Japanese-meal-set and four-leaf-clover magnets up on my cubicle walls, and my self-painted mirror on my table, and John Mortimer cheek-to-cheek with Michael Chabon and Milan Kundera on my bookshelf. There are old photographs and cheery notes on display. One photo especially, of Dreying and me, stands out because neither of us particularly wanted to have our picture taken at that moment, being busy discussing something serious. But we had no choice in the matter, and so the picture consists of two big and very painful grins… which I find quite funny on hindsight.

Amazing, by the way, how a picture can recall a thousand words.

Thus soothed, I find myself looking at Christmas with unusual enthusiasm. For the first time in years, I’m thinking of appropriate gifts and even of writing cards a full month before the day. My twelve-year-old self would no doubt have been horrified at this lukewarmness (lukewarmth?), but, hey, kid, you haven’t been through the mill of working life yet. It’s nice to look forward to Christmas again.

A day in the life of a blitzed-out Katie

I’ve had such an eventful day that my brain is fagged out and I can’t do anything more that can be truthfully called work. Let me download a little here.

0830 – 0845: Photoshopped mugshot  – taken half an hour previously – for staff pass.

0850 – 0930: Saw a lady with such awful family problems, it would put almost anybody off men.

0940 – 0942: Peed.

0945 – 1000: Took a cab.

1010 - 1025: Waited.

1030 – 1100: MY FIRST RADIO INTERVIEW. Exciting that. I’d never even been to a radio station before, and there I was, all goggle-eyed and swivel-necked. I had to suppress a disastrous urge to burst into giggles when I was introduced as someone with “many years of experience” in my field. The worst was over the moment I opened my mouth, though, because I could stop being nervous. I think… hope… it went OK. Was less than grammatically impeccable in many spots.

1115 – 1130: Got a lift back to the Buffalo Farm from the local celeb who was interviewed with me (woot!). Found self talking about mutton brain soup. Scolded self for having no idea how to make a good impression on people.

1140 – 1150: Wrote up notes on lady with awful family problems.

1200 – 1220: Took another cab.

1228 – 1230: Peed.

1230 – 1410: Lunch talk at Nut Farm on child abuse. Argh.

1420 – 1450: Took another cab. Note to self: buy Comfort stocks. 

1500 – 1530: Handed in staff pass photo and HR forms to HR lady. Looked innocent when asked for forms that was supposed to have, but did not have.

1545 – 1550: Obtained Kopitiam staff card.

1550 – 1555: Activated new ATM card.

1555 – 1600: Paid credit card bill.

1600 – 1610: Hunted for new-baby gift for S&C. Bought Mothercare vouchers after nosing into three shops.

1615 – 1620: Composed official name card.

1620 – 1625: Answered emails as politely as possible.

1625 – 1630: Tidied desk.

1630 – 1700: Worked on presentation due Thursday.

1700: Threw in the towel. Peed.

So now I’m just waiting for Mr. Manx to finish his day so he can pick me up to go visit S&C and their new infant J. I don’t even know what J stands for yet. I’m terribly tired but it’s a different kind of tiredness than the one I get on the Fruit Farm. It’s better.