Meaf is the essense of flesh when served for consumption. It may be
distinguished from meat on syntactic grounds, although it is certainly inseperable from it. Meat describes the edible part of animals in any of its forms, down to the meagre flecks of ham that might render a salad unsuitable for
vegetarians. Meaf, however, describes with oleaginous zest the superabundance of butchery that is brought about by a proper passion for cuts of just-slaughtered sustenance. Meaf, ladies and gentleman, is meta-meat, such as might be served at a banquet of all-conquering carnivores. The salty knuckle of pork that bobs in your soup unashamedly flaunting its ringlets of gristle - this is Meaf. An entire piglet skewered and twisting gratefully over the fat driven flames of an open fire speaks Meaf with the uninhibited
enthusiasm of infants. Larded loins of game and lubricious lengths of sausage are unambiguous Meaf of
the first order, especially when served with a pork tiara.
Meaf is the epicurean scorn of a sensible diet and all that is implied therein. Meaf is the second helping taken when you're already full, simply because you like the feel of scorched flesh against the ever vital buds of your tongue.
