SANS SANG S'IL VOUS PLAIT...

I spent most of this evening wrestling with a purple sinewy mass of steak entrecote. It was my own fault. I asked for it medium when as everyone knows in France that means dripping with blood, flash fried for a minute on each side.

All I could think of when attacking it was the skill required for serial killers to cut up their victims.
Having neither the sharpened canines or sufficiently