I was born in Paris, and as a proper Frenchman, I was very quickly initiated into the custom of eating beef—lots of beef, in fact. In boarding school, we ate meat twice a day. Not only that, France has taken eating beefsteak to a higher level: we like it saignante, or hardly cooked, so it’s still bleeding on the plate. We even eat beef raw—it’s called steak tartare, and is topped with a raw yolk. Mmm...used to love it! The story behind the ‘tartare’ is that, when their horses died, the Tartars, being so much in a hurry, would carve out the choicest parts, and sit atop the pieces on their new horses—so that the meat ‘cooked’ a little!—before eating it, still riding hard towards new conquests. That brings us to horsemeat. When I was a kid, there were boucheries chevalines, or horse butchers, all over Paris and we used to eat horsemeat, though today it is frowned upon even in meat-crazy France.