Once our family was at the “Ball and Chain” steak restaurant in Hobart, for some occasion I now cannot remember. Penny was perhaps six years old at the time, or thereabouts – perhaps younger – probably older.

The time came to order our meals, and not surprisingly, many people were ordering steak of some variety. The waitress went around the table, and for each person, the dialog went something like this:

“And you would like…?”

“The Porterhouse steak please.”

“Certainly. And how would you like that cooked?”

“Medium-rare, thanks.”

It was fairly predictable. The notable exception to this was Penny. In her case the conversation went something like this:

“Now what would you like?”

“The rump steak with mushroom sauce please.”

“Certainly. And you’d like that cooked…?”

“Yes please.”