Soul food: Stefanie Reynaud on the steak-frites of her childhood My grandpa was a butcher in a little village called Saint-Agrève in southern France. I used to go with him in his truck to the cattle market 50km away. We left at five in the morning - I was so excited, it was like a Christmas gift to go with him. During the winter there was a lot of snow and we arrived in the village in the dark. Everything was closed, expect for a little door, and behind this door was a bistro, filled with everyone waiting for the market to open. At 6am I had steak-frites, surrounded by all those people and the smell of cigarettes and wine. I had my limonade; I felt like an adult, even though I was only seven. I had the strongest feeling that I wanted to do that job, to cook. Everybody was happy. And I wanted to go back every week to have my steak for breakfast. The food we ate when I was little was always food to be shared. My grandma prepared lunch early, before she went to work in the butchery, so I woke to the smell of pot au feu or cassoulet on the fireplace. There was always enough for anyone who arrived unannounced. I love that kind of food, but have never since had a steak so good. "Pies and Tarts," by Stéphane Reynaud, is published by Murdoch Books, £20