Raw Courage in Steak Tartare

As I walked past the lunch food options of torpedo shaped raw hamburger with baguette and reclined whole octopus sleeping on garbanzo beans, I thought "Yuck. I have no claim on the foodie label." A grilled zucchini dish, the most Cassie-friendly dish available, did not satisfy the rumblings in my stomach. I had to build courage to try something new but somewhat familiar - Steak Tartare. When I was younger, I loved to eat raw hamburger. The thought of that now makes me shudder and question the sanity of my parents and babysitter who are not foodies either. But perhaps that was just the infancy of my developing palate.

Today, the rose colored raw meat with a faint marbling sat in a large metal bowel waiting to be portioned out onto an eco-friendly camel colored bamboo plate. Using two soup spoons, the chefs measured out my 2 ounce portion and formed a oval shape with a clang-clang. The meat football was placed with a bed of greens and two baguette blankets.

I pulled at the tartare to spread it evenly across the first slice of crusty baguette. I searched my brain for an analogous food distraction in preparation for the first bite. Peanut butter? No, not savory enough. Ah, nothing. There is nothing like this. I silently coached myself, "I can do this. It's the gourmet version of my strange childhood love." I took the first bite and continued eating it. I felt comfort. The meat was smooth on the roof of my mouth as I crunched into the baguette. I prepared the second piece of bread. Working through my challenge of trying something unappealing and trying to eat the appetizer without making a grimace, I completely forgot to take note of the taste or smell. Three out five senses ain't bad. If he was a food writer instead of a song writer, Meatloaf would approve. I, however, do plan to keep working on my writing.