MEAT! MEAT! It's good for your heart!
The following is a barely cohesive collection of somewhat random meat related thoughts.
I am pretty sure I am addicted to meat. I love it. I love meat. Meaty meat meat meat meat.
I feel that a meal without meat is little more than a retarded salad. I can’t explain that, I just said it because it sounds right to me.
I have considered being a vegetarian, because I do like vegetables, and they are wayyy better for my bowels. I get frequent splodey poos, which I’ve tried to combat by eating a higher fiber diet. But thanks to watching lots of daytime TV while I’ve been unemployed, I found out that an acne medication I took while I was a teenager and in my early twenties, Accutane, has been known to cause Crohn’s disease and other debilitating irritable bowel disorders. The TV says people has won MILLIONS. TV says I need to call lawyers and I get millions too. But before I do, there is usually a Burger King commercial that distracts me. And I don’t even really like Burger King.
Once, while visiting my wife’s family in Kentucky on their farm, we were in this barn, and there was a cow. She mooed, and scared the shit out of me. It wasn’t the mooing that scared me, it was how quickly my mind went to “How big a roll would I need…?” She was a delicious looking animal. I don’t think they ever ate her, though. I think of an uneaten cow the same way I think of an un-Wal-Marted farm. I think, “That cow would make great meat for me, and that farm would make a great Wal-Mart for me to buy stuff to put on the meat this cow could be for me.”
Bacon is love. You know who said that? Jesus. It’s true because I believe it.
Bacon may be the most perfect food I will talk about in this sentence. My mouth waters like…Someone that loves bacon.
I had this brilliant idea once, to market bacon as a bagged snack food, like potato chips. Can you imagine a whole bag of precooked, chip sized bacon slices, in assorted flavors? If I had that, I’d never leave the house. But then, I don’t leave the house much now, so I guess it’s an empty threat.
Over the years, my weight has gone up and down a lot. When I was at one of my heavier points, a little over 250 pounds, I noticed I had this insane craving for bacon, but zero sex drive. If my weight dropped again, below 250 pounds, the bacon craving would go away, and I’d wanna fuck again. I’ve frequently wondered if I was able to hit 250 pounds dead on, maybe I’d want to fuck bacon.
I don’t normally think of food and sex together. I’m too much of a neat freak for that. I’d hate to clean up the mess. But I have had some pretty impure thoughts about making a cheese steak my sweet love slave. That is probably because I grew up in Philadelphia, right?
Ahh, Philadelphia Cheese Steak sandwiches. The single greatest reason for never, ever even considering being a vegetarian. Fucking hippies and their stink. If I could die wrapped in the happy meat of a Philadelphia Cheese Steak, I would die a greasy man. With bacon, fried onions, hot peppers, and pizza sauce. Oh god, what a way to go.
Growing up, we always had meat for dinner. Roast beef, steak, hamburgers, hot dogs, Shepperd’s Pie, fried chicken, canned ham, fried ham, pork chops…I could keep going, but you get it. We’d have veggies, too, but it was almost always mashed potatoes. And something called “wax beans” that looked like dead string beans. They were so gross. My mother didn’t skimp on the fat, either. If it was fried, it was fried in three inches of vegetable oil. If butter was needed, there would be a whole stick used. My mother had her own love for butter. She kept it in the freezer, so it never melted, and when she put it on toast, she’d cut the pats of butter a quarter inch thick and cover the toast with it, barely spreadable, frozen butter. When we’d all get Cheese Steaks, she’d order a plain steak, no cheese, and just put frozen butter in with the meat.
When I was younger, I made my own food concoctions, like many kids did. But being a latchkey kid, no one was home to tell me not to deep fry something. I have vivid memories of taking Oscar Meyer hot dogs, dipping them in eggs, rolling them in crushed potato chips, corn chips, and pretzels, then deep frying them to a golden brown. They were fantastic. I want one now.
I once made meat salad. It was ground beef, ground turkey, chunks of chicken, bacon, pepperoni, cut up hot dogs and the insides of about a dozen Slim Jims. I cooked it all up together, with onions, hot peppers, garlic and chili powder. The idea was to make a taco filling, but it was just as good eating it with a spoon.
A friend of mine loves barbecuing. At one BBQ party at his place, he grilled up some insane volume of ribs, burgers, hot dogs, steaks, chicken, everything you can think of grilling, he cooked it up. I can’t even put numbers on it, it was some biblically retarded poundage of meats. While spending several hours consuming nothing but meat and beer, he came down with a condition he coined “the meat sweats”. He has explained it to me, something about excessive meat eating that resulted in uncontrollable sweating. It sounded wonderful. I have tried to attain this level of meat eating many times. I have yet to experience the Meat Sweats. If I do one thing before I die, I want it to be the Meat Sweats.
As an adult, I eat more chicken than anything else. I cook a big package of boneless, skinless chicken breasts every week, and use them for sandwiches, burritos, snacks, dinners with veggies and rice, etc. I got into the habit because there is some notion that chicken is healthier than beef, and it was an easy protein to chow down on when I was working out heavily. Because of this, I rarely eat chicken when I’m out. I figure, why? I’ve got chicken at home.
During this chickeny existence, I went through a long period where I added Buffalo Wing sauce or seasoning to all the chicken I cooked. My Buffalo period. Buffalo chicken pizza, buffalo chicken Cheese Steaks, buffalo chicken omelets, buffalo chicken soup, buffalo chicken pasta, buffalo chicken tenders. I ate a lot of Buffalo.
Pepperoni, bacon, chicken, and ranch dressing should be it’s own food group. Not individually, but as one happy group, never to be eaten apart from one another.
Every St. Patty’s day, my wife makes Corned Beef in a slow cooker. It takes something like twelve hours, but it melts in your mouth. I could eat it by the pound. I have eaten it by the pound. I’ve never been prouder to be Irish. My wife is cool too, but the corned beef knows how to treat a man.
I’m not a big fan of uncured pork. Ham, Bacon, I love. Pork, for some reason, doesn’t always sit well. Except barbecue pork, that sits just fine.
With all this meat lust, I tried the Atkin’s diet, and it didn’t work well for me. Probably because I love cake too.