I watched Carl make breakfast once. He cracked four eggs, fried a half-pound of bacon, and then slid a steak next to it. When I asked where the toast was, he looked at me like I’d offered him a slice of cardboard.
“That’s just a vehicle for butter,” he said, grinning. I felt judged for my very existence. It’s funny how a person who eats pure animal fat can make a bagel seem like the weird choice.
His coffee? Black. Cream comes from cows, and cows are meat-adjacent, so he’s fine with it. But don’t you dare put sugar in it. “Sugar is for bees and toddlers,” he’ll snort.
The Restaurant Shuffle
Going out to eat with a carnivore is a comedy show. You watch them turn the menu over three times, sigh, and then ask the waiter, “Can you just put a steak on a plate? No sides. Not even a garnish.”
The waiter always looks confused. “Sir, the steak comes with roasted vegetables and a potato puree.” Carl just stares. “I’d like to un-puree that potato, please. Actually, just throw it away.”
I’ve seen a waitress bring out an extra side of butter “just in case,” and Carl’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Meanwhile, I’m over here negotiating with the menu to swap my fries for more fries.
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