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Most people who tell me carnivore didn't work for them learned it from the first wave of meatfluencers, and that first wave couldn't have told you where the fat was on a cow.

They were busy with the organs. Nose to tail or you weren't serious. Raw liver eaten to camera like a dare. Heart, kidney, spleen, a bull's testicle for the thumbnail. And at the end of every sermon, the freeze-dried organ capsules, discount code in the description. Strange how the gospel always finished at a checkout.

Fat got a line, if it got anything.

That's the diet upside down. Take away the carbohydrate and fat is the fuel, the only fuel left. Protein builds you; it was never meant to run you. The trappers of the north had a name for living on lean meat alone: rabbit starvation. Pounds of it a day, and they wasted away with full stomachs.

So the beginners did exactly as they were shown. Sirloin with the white trimmed off. Chicken breast. A palmful of capsules and a glass of water.

By week three they were exhausted, blocked up, ravenous and dreaming about toast. Back to the bread they went, telling everyone carnivore had nearly killed them.

They never tried carnivore. They tried lean protein and pills, then blamed the cow.

That's the mess I spend most of my week cleaning up.

- Buy the cut with the most white on it.
- Treat butter as a food, not a garnish.
- Pour the fat from the pan back over the meat.
- Tip what's left in the pan into a mug and drink it.

Nobody in six years has ever quit carnivore because there was too much butter on the plate. They quit because there wasn't enough.



Mike
 
Everything alive on this planet turns towards the sun.

Flowers swing to face it through the day.

Trees grow crooked to reach it.

Lizards lie flat on the rock to soak it in.

Cattle leave the shed to graze in it.

Dogs find the one warm patch on the carpet and sleep in it.

Babies turn their faces to the window.

Our skin makes a hormone from it that no food can fully replace.

Our blood pressure drops the moment it touches us.

Our body clock runs on it, and sleep falls apart without it.

Two million years of humans worked, hunted and rested by it.

Then one species, on the advice of a leaflet, started slathering chemicals on its skin to keep it out.

The flowers never got the memo. Neither did your bones.



Mike
 

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