In a hall where snob Poli-Sci students dine,
A shy American sits, sipping some wine,
A plate slides before him, a curious sight,
Steak tartare gleaming, a culinary fright.
Crimson and raw, with a glimmer of spice,
He squints at the dish, not feeling too nice.
“Is this what’s to eat?” he reacts with a frown,
“This cold slab of meat? I’m not putting that down!”
With courage mustered, he approaches the cook,
“Pardon,” he says, with a nervous little look,
“Could you please heat this? I can’t even begin.”
The chef raises an eyebrow, but shrugs with a grin.
To the lad’s surprise, a strange ripple runs through,
The French students whisper, “Is this something new?”
One by one, they nod, “We’ll have ours like that,”
And soon the cook’s station’s abuzz with chat.
“Let’s sizzle that steak, make it juicy and warm,
Forget the finesse, let’s embrace a new norm!”
From tartare to grilled, a transformation’s begun,
In the heart of Paris, a new dish has been born!
Laughter erupts and all the suspense deflates,
As flavors unite across cultural gates.
L’etranger smiles, feeling bold in the fray,
In the Land of Chefs, he’s finding his way.
So here in this place, where traditions collide,
A meal is now shared with common ground as guide;
A lesson in flavor from a Yankee guy
Gives the cynical French a reason to try.
*What really happened.
© 2025, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved. (1972)