Meat = Mine

Let’s just get this out of the way: I am a vegetarian. Accordingly, I think of meat as flesh, dripping with blood, freshly separated from a pulse. That said, the prospect of eating meat — let alone branding it with my own initials — won’t send me off to the butcher in some rabid fury.

However, there is a breed of peoples whose eyeballs turn to exclamation points whenever they happen to be in earshot of the word “steak.” These are generally the same people who pronounce “meat,” “MEAT” (or, my personal favorite; “MMMEAT!!!”). These are also the same people that, incidentally enough, like burning their initials deep into things. And, because this is ‘merica (and because I respect them, even if I can’t join them), I am thrilled to tell you that it is now possible to do both things at once.

That’s right, you manly man’s men (or man’s women), not only do you have the right to lay hands on the biggest chunk of cow/pig/buffalo/alligator/marmot) you can find, you can also brand that beast with your initials while roasts to perfection (Mmm, my bloody deliciousness, you are rare and tender and your sweet juices ooze from my own initials as you descend into my eager belly; mwhaHAHA, YOU ARE MINE! BWHAHAHA!!!).

Yep. Williams Sonoma‘s got ’em — Heather just ordered her own set. Go and join her, you sick, sick flesh-eaters.