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Yesterday in France, culinary history was rewritten—and not by a chef, but by a seagull with absolutely zero table manners. There it was, a sun-dappled afternoon at a seaside café. A couple sits down, ready for what they probably hoped would be a romantic meal. Maybe they’d reminisce, clink glasses, and sigh contentedly over a perfectly cooked steak. Enter the protagonist: one feathered, two-legged, and presumably uninvited. As the couple’s juicy steak is set down, this seagull swoops in with the grace of an Olympic gymnast and the audacity of a seasoned pickpocket, swiping the steak clean off their plate before their forks ever touched it.
Witnesses describe a scene that can only be described as a fusion of Alfred Hitchcock and a Food Network heist show. The couple reportedly sat frozen, both literally and figuratively, as the avian bandit disappeared with their dinner, leaving behind nothing but a couple of fork-shaped dents in the disappointment soufflé that was now their main course. The server, having no formal training in bird-related food theft, apparently compensated the couple—though sources remain silent about whether a “no seagulls” clause now exists in the café menu.
Now, the question that must be asked: why did the seagull risk everything for a slab of steak? Is this part of a new culinary movement among France’s coastal birds? Was the seagull on a high-protein diet? Or maybe, just maybe, it took the phrase “surf and turf” a little too literally. Either way, the couple has a story no one will believe and the seagull, somewhere over the bay, has dinner.
Onlookers apparently attempted to video the feat, although it’s unclear if anyone successfully captured the moment—or if the bird demanded copyright royalties for footage of its daring escapade. The crime scene was left with a couple in shock, a waiter who may forever eye the sky suspiciously, and one less steak in the world, presumably enjoyed al fresco on a lamp post.
Experts in animal behavior were not available for comment, perhaps because they too were busy guarding their lunches. As for the café, business continues, though patrons now scan the horizon for opportunistic beaks before ordering sirloin. The local police have not issued an official seagull wanted poster, although rumor has it the perpetrator is at large, with a preference for rare cuts and a reputation as the “Larcenous Larus”—that’s the scientific name for gulls, for those keeping score at home.
So, next time you’re dining al fresco on the French coast, remember: one winged thief could turn your romantic meal into the next viral sensation, and you may find yourself picking feathers out of your béarnaise sauce while retelling the tale of how you were outwitted by a bird with a taste for the finer things in life. Bon appétit, and maybe keep an eye on your onion rings.
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