As it happens, we favour rib-eye steak in this household for its extra juiciness and considerable chearperness than yer sirloin or popeseye (please don't laugh at the Scottish names for cuts of meat – I've no idea what you foreigners call them). As I've mentioned before, nothing competes with Babybear's avowed passion for roast chicken but she does much enjoy a good hunk of beef.
We tend to cook ours to a medium (heat up the pan first, as I'm sure you know, while you dry the meat with kitchen towel and rub oil into the flesh, yum-yum) and then give Babybear some of the more cooked pieces from the outside. She gets it pink, though, and it hasn't killed her yet. But go on, line up to tell me how I'm endangering her life…