Saturday night, I'm cooking "daddy burgers" - no big deal but everyone seems to like them. Tomato, still from my garden lettuce beetroot some cheese and mayonnaise w ketchup. Fine.
But when I got to Paris the first thing I was offered was a cheeseburger. I laughed then realized how silly it was to laugh. The guy I was with loves his food. When the cheeseburger came it was incredible. They had asked how I wanted the meat cooked and then it was brilliant. The meat was fluffy - and rare as I'd asked for it - and everything about it was very, very nice.
I trusted the chef enough to eat a rare cheeseburger, and I was rewarded.
Still, mine tonight will be cooked through.
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