Exceptions to a Rule

I look forward to Saturday nights when we are entertaining family or friends so last weekend was a pleasant affair where we shared a dinner with neighbours. Stephen had planned a menu of steak for our main course. Usually I don't have a special penchant for steak but I now have to make an exception; for his tarragon steak was his best ever. Was it his cooking? Was it the cut? Was I crazy or was I developing an interest in the tender meat staring at me from my plate? What was happening? Everyone who knows me expects me to love duck as that for many moons has been my favourite food. The prawn and green melon starter was fine. A simple and subtle introduction to the main event. Dessert, nothing special there since it is probably the only dessert that I can make with confidence time after time. Yet I hearken back to the steak and realise that I have possibly been missing out on something all this time. I have had tarragon steak before but never to the degree where I felt that I could break my rule and make an exception and consider that its taste merited further samplings. Have I gone soft? Is this what is called a mid-life crisis? Rules are made to be broken. At least once ...