My Complicated (But Mostly Delicious) Relationship With Meat

Let’s get this out of the way: I like meat. A lot. The kind of “a lot” that makes childhood me look back and wonder why vegetables even existed if they didn’t arrive covered in sauce, cheese, or—on especially desperate days—sugar. Thankfully, adulthood forced me into a more balanced diet. Balanced, of course, meaning I now eat vegetables on purpose… but only because I’ve discovered seasoning exists.

Still, let’s be honest: most of my meals remain about 80% meat, 10% carbs, and 10% whatever vegetable I’ve convinced myself counts as “adulting.”

Is Meat Bad For Me?

Look, I’m not out here advocating a 100% carnivore lifestyle—mainly because I enjoy not dying. But do I see a problem with savoring a sweet, medium-rare morsel every day? Absolutely not. As long as it won’t kill me and it doesn’t cost more than my monthly streaming subscriptions combined, I’m golden.
(Emphasis on affordable. I will spend money on other people without blinking, but spend it on myself? Suddenly I’m frugal enough to make a Victorian accountant proud.)

Is Eating Mostly Meat a Problem?

Not in the slightest. Would I eat a ribeye every single day if life allowed it?
Yes.
Would I pick up a slab of raw bacon like a cartoon caveman and chomp until grease slides down my chin?
Probably not.
It’s a preference, not a pathology.

Would I Ever Go Vegetarian or Vegan?

Short answer: no.
Long answer: absolutely not.

I now appreciate vegetables—turns out they taste significantly better when you don’t boil them into sadness. But committing to a fully plant-powered life? I give myself three days. Five if I’m feeling stubborn. After that, I’d start imagining stones as dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, and that feels like a slippery slope into madness.