Tah Tah

There was a time when I felt pretty adamantly about having my meat cooked almost to the point of turning into ash. As you can see from the photo of my steak tartare however, my desired level of doneness has since decreased significantly. I have a friend Grace who likes her burgers so rare that she's stopped going to restaurants altogether and now just saunters onto farms in the moonlight and sinks her teeth into the necks of sleeping cows.

This fantastic little raw hockey puck of beef was topped with a party hat of quail egg, which - when broken - permeated the crevices of the tartare like a viscous, heavenly ooze.