Say adios to steak-frites Alberto Contador

Steak Frites
(Photo by Sifu Renka on Flickr, used under Creative Commons licence)

There are few culinary delights in this world which can match the pleasure of steak-frites done properly. It’s the great constant of French cuisine that you can order anywhere and know that even the most pastis-pickled commis is unlikely to get it wrong.

And to that joy, Alberto Contador has just waved goodbye for the rest of his racing career. Yes, it was a tenderloin rather than the cuts that typically sit atop the mound of frites, but he has foresworn any beef for the rest of his career.

Then again, this is a man so picky about his food that, in a town with 36 butcher’s shops, he had to get his meal bussed in from another country. So he’s probably beyond the appreciation of a meal that shouldn’t come to much more than 10 euro, including a glass of wine.

Yeah, who feels foolish now Bert? Not me, who always looks forward to enjoying steak-frites when I get to Paris.

Although of late I must recommend Café Castiglione’s Cheeseburger. A great place to go on the final day of the Tour – it’s at the top of Rue St Honoré – so you can have lunch and catch the riders as they hurtle out of Rue Rivoli and into Place de la Concorde.

The owner also has a signed yellow jersey that he brings out for the Tour. My American readers might like to know this so that they don’t like the couple we saw, resplendent in Discovery Team jerseys, who failed to spot both the jersey and the fantastic food.

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