At the Surreal Kitchen, we like to do what kids today might call ‘free-balling it’. We play a little fast and loose with flavors, textures, shapes. Then, we release our meat children into the wild to observe what we have wrought. Normally, it works out.

This time…we may have gone too far.

In an act of sheer culinary hubris, we summoned from the meaty void a vessel of such succulent mystery, even we don’t understand it.

It is formless.

It is shapeless.

It might just be flawless.

Trust us, we measured*.

Using our best meat science, we analyzed this adorable messenger from the ether. It obliterated every metric: jigglability, yield to tongue, you name it. It held the meatiest qualities of all the legendary meats, manifested in purest perfection. It transcended mere cuts and shapes. Indeed, it laughed at our attempts to classify it. Our earthly adjectives shattered against the impenetrable depth of its mystique.

So, with no where left to turn, desperate to understand our creation, we plunged it into our mouths. At first, silence. Then, a luscious whisper. A tender grip upon our souls. And only then did we finally grasp the succulent truth. 



Perhaps meat does not need a category. Maybe it doesn’t demand a shape. Or, even a proper name. Meat, it turns out, like all food, is but a vessel for joy, nourishment, and the tender connection we all crave.

Then, we cried.

Now, all this said, we had to call this divine creation something. So, without further ado, allow us to introduce: 




MEATY MEAT.