Chez Jose: who needs meat?

I am a carnivore and proud of it.

For as long as I can remember, consuming meat has always engaged all five senses for me: the longing gaze at the fried chicken fresh out the fryer, the oil bubbles still twerking on the golden-brown skin, the gamey scent of the medium-rare lambchops filling the air as they come out of the oven, the sharp sizzle of the marbled ribeye as it cannonballs into the pool of butter that lies in the welcoming cast-iron pan, the oily pork juice that dribbles down the chin after that initial bite of the xiaolongbao (soup dumplings), and the moment when the perfectly-cooked duck breast, glazed with pomegranate reduction, becomes one with the crispy skin; savory, sweet, and acidic.

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