Hipster farmers are pussies. Yuppie foodies are embarrassing half-men. But butchers—so fucking hot, OMG. All the blood. All the meat. All the editing in the world can't conceal NYT reporter Kim Severson's butcher lust:
Now there is a new kind of star on the food scene: young butchers. With their swinging scabbards, muscled forearms and constant proximity to flesh, butchers have the raw, emotional appeal of an indie band.
"Dangerous is sometimes sexy, and they are generally big guys with knives who are covered in blood."
They're no Ted Bundy, but they'll do.
"Obviously everyone is the middle of a total meat obsession," Ms. Keenan said.
That's what she said. Oh, that is actually what she said. Carry on.
In San Francisco, Ryan Farr calls himself a "producer of porcine pleasure."
Mr. Farr had a dream. "I want to throw a 300-pound pig in the middle of a room full of people and just tag-team it with him," he said.
"There is always going to be some guy in some meat room in some part of the world who is going to be faster than you," he said.