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when I was a small child, my grandmother, fearing I wasn't getting enough nutrients, used to collect all the juice from the draining board when she'd cook a roast, put it in a double shot glass, and give it to me to drink. heavenly.
My roommate couldn't sit across the table form me on those days, because of the crazed ferocity with which I devoured the meat with my bare hands.
Coming home drunk when I lived in Williamsburg, there was a mexican 24 hour roast chicken place right outside my subway stop, and for $3, I'd get a half a chicken and just tear into it on my walk, flinging bones as I went. By the time I arrived at home 4 blocks later, the thing would be devoured, and I'd be greasy-faced and happy.God.... I love meat.