What are your feelings about eating meat?
I like it.
The char on a ribeye. The smoke from a slow-cooked brisket. The smell that fills the house when the oven’s been going for hours.
That smell—that’s what I remember.
Family gatherings. Holiday meals. The kitchen buzzing with voices while someone checks the roast. Kids running through the house. Someone setting the table. Everyone knowing that when it’s ready, we sit down together.
Meat wasn’t just on the plate.
It was the excuse to gather.
And behind every meal was craft.
The Italian nonna rolling meatballs by hand, recipe passed down three generations. The Texas pitmaster tending a smoker for fourteen hours. The German butcher making sausages the same way his grandfather did. Korean kalbi marinated overnight. Argentine asado cooked slow over wood coals.
These aren’t recipes.
They’re traditions.
Meat carries culture.
Smoking, curing, braising, roasting, grilling—techniques refined over centuries and handed down parent to child.
Prosciutto takes months.
Real barbecue takes patience.
A perfect steak takes timing and feel, not just a thermometer.
And some traditions go even deeper.
A biker pig roast isn’t just food.
It’s a ritual.
A whole hog rotating over flame, fuel tanks cooling in the shade, leather jackets thrown on picnic tables. People you’ve ridden miles with grabbing beers, swapping road stories, waiting for the moment that pig is carved. No menus, no reservations—just community built around fire.
Whether it’s a kitchen, a smoke pit, or the back lot behind the bikes, meat has always pulled people together.
A good steak is a statement.
A rack of ribs anchors the table.
A whole hog stops the world.
Meat is good.
And it smells even better.
— Randolph A. Lewis
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