My hubby Bob is truly a Man of Meat. His insatiable appetite for flesh is unparalleled. Indeed, he is one of those guys who feels he hasn't eaten a meal unless there's a big hunk of seared/broiled/baked/fried dead animal somewhere. Last night at the Giant Party of Monstrous Proportions (in which not one but two pinatas were smashed and there was loud karaoke and swimming and a margarita machine!), Bob commandeered the grill and prepared late-night burgers and dogs for the hungry, liquored-up masses, even burning his arm in the process, leaving a deep red wound in its wake. A battle scar.
A few weeks ago, Bob acquired the Alton Brown cookbook that comes with meat maps and livestock-shaped fridge magnets, and this book has quickly become his atlas into the world of preparing cheap cuts of meat that taste like more expensive cuts. Several bloody sections of cow have come through our kitchen, mostly delicious. I wasn't much of a meat-eater before Bob entered my life and raised my cholesterol. Truly, he raised my cholesterol. It was much lower before he and his meat showed up.
I prefer a more plant-based diet. But I like meat, too. I bet if I had met and married a vegetarian, I would be a vegetarian. I should stand up for my eating habits. I mean, let's talk about my relationship with chicken. I never CRAVE chicken. It's there, it's protein, it's familiar. Sometimes it's really good, but I don't love chicken. So why do I eat so much of it?
I want a brownie.
Posted by Zerd at May 7, 2007 12:46 AM