A week of carnivore, planned in one hour.
The hardest part of eating this way isn't willpower — it's admin. Meat-first eating fails at 6pm on a Wednesday, when you're tired, the fridge is a riddle, and the takeaway app is right there being charming. So I don't rely on Wednesday-me. Sunday-me runs the show.
Sunday, one hour, one machine, radio on. That's the whole religion. By the time the hour is up, every meal until Friday already knows what it is — and Wednesday-me just has to reheat, sear, or assemble like the well-fed idiot she deserves to be.
The hour, minute by minute
Minutes 0–10: eggs. A dozen, soft-boiled in the steaming basket while I unpack the shopping — breakfast for days, done before I've found the radio station.
Minutes 10–40: the big braise. Beef shin or short ribs into the bowl with last week's bone broth, slow-cook mode on, walk away. This becomes two dinners and one heroic lunch.
Minutes 20–40, in parallel: while the braise minds itself, I render a tray of tallow in the oven and pan-fry a batch of burger patties for the freezer. The machine and I are colleagues now; we work separate stations.
Minutes 40–60: the extras that make the week feel rich instead of repetitive — a herb butter blitzed in seconds for steak night, chicken liver pâté if I'm feeling Victorian, and next week's broth set going with the bones from the braise.
The result: five days where dinner is a decision-free zone. Steak gets seared fresh because that takes eight minutes and I'm not an animal — everything else is done, jarred, portioned and waiting. Total weekly cook time, including the hour: barely ninety minutes.
And that's the honest pitch, isn't it? Not that a machine makes you a different person — but that it makes your best hour count for the whole week. Come to a demo and I'll show you the hour in real time. Bring your diary. We'll plan your week while dinner cooks itself.