Gary Shelton

I've grilled chickens that were either pink and new as an infant mole rat, or burned into some sort of dinosaur fossil, but I've never, ever made a nice, juicy thigh or breast. Ever. And steaks? Don't get me started. Usually, they just end up looking like gnarled curlicues of road rubber.

Women love candles, right? Scented ones that come in expensive tins, that have scents like "Lemon Rosemary Linen Rutabaga" or whatever. So I searched "FANCIEST CANDLE THAT WOMEN LIKE TO KEEP MY WIFE FROM BEING MAD AT ME EASY TO ORDER" and clicked on the first thing that came up.

This is probably the highest praise I can afford the Impossible Burger: if eaten quickly, while hot, with one eye closed, it's like beef. More like beef than, say, a pencil eraser. More like beef than, just for one random example, a kitchen sponge. Definitely. 

"What's the matter with you, son?" If only I could have told him. If it were only that easy, and I could have just said "overbearing mother," or "raised Catholic," or "unrealistic expectations from a lifetime of television watching," and have that serve as an explanation for how I got this way...