Hello. My name is Scott, and I am a carnivore.
I love meat. I always have. You could plunk me down on the therapy couch and have the shrewdest analyst drill into my memories like a deranged Texas oilman, and I doubt he’d uncover a single time in my life when I haven’t delighted at the thought of a perfectly grilled filet, a slab of ribs, or even just a good old-fashioned hot dog (excluding infancy, of course, when I lacked the choppers necessary to sink into a plate full of lamb chops).
For years, I’ve harbored my love and fascination with carnivorism like some sort of dirty secret. It didn’t keep me from enjoying the occasional half-pound hamburger or barbeque brisket platter, but face it: these days, if you’re looking to make a good impression, you’d likely be safer ordering a salad than a 14-ounce T-bone. Sad as it is, I can count on one hand the friends I have who regularly patronize a butcher shop (can you name the butcher shop nearest your home?). And no, the meat section at your local McGroceryStore doesn’t count. I’m talking about an honest-to-god butcher shop, the kind of place that proudly displays slaughtered animal carcasses in the front window, where you could ask for hearts and blood and entrails and they’d answer you, straight-faced, with “What kind and how much?” That kind of butcher shop.
I don’t get it; where at one point in American history a vegetarian would have been branded as a godless communist and advised to return forthwith to the CCCP, abstaining from the consumption of animal flesh these days is now largely viewed as an “enlightened life decision,” even though it’s not what most of us do. And to make things worse, we have to deal with the half-witted admonishments of anemic, skeletal celebrities who try to pass off the notion that it’s perfectly okay to subsist on a diet of cigarettes, croutons and energy drinks while pumping botulism toxin into their faces by the liter, so long as we don’t eat the defenseless animals. I’m loathe to criticize anyone for limiting their diet because of sincere religious convictions – I’m Jewish after all, though my love for pork products, cheeseburgers and shellfish will forever trump my fidelity to the laws of kashrut – but it must be said:
The defenseless animals taste really, really good.
So this website is my rallying cry. A call to arms. I’m certain that there’s a veritable army of carnivores out there just like me, ready and waiting for someone to come forth waving that blood-red banner high, unabashed, in true carnivorous splendor. And if, as I suspect, that army is out there longing to be vindicated, a legion of honest, meat loving individuals who are forced to feel that they are somehow spiritually lacking simply because they consume in a way that’s so natural and elemental, and should you, gentle reader, be among them, I’m here to say you are not alone.
Repeat after me: I am a carnivore, and I’m damned proud of it.