This Week in Food Porn: Steak and String Cheese

Is your Instagram feed an inescapable hate-cave of gym selfies, fancy dress baby pics, and motivational quotes misattributed to early-noughties R&B artists? Do you spend your lunch break scrolling endlessly through ugly wedding teeth, cankles, and people tweezering? Do you sometimes long for a respite from the monotony of pugs, beach sunsets, and blossom?

Then fear not, my internet-hydrated friends, for today we are here to bring you the very best rolls, bowls, and auto-proteins uploaded to Instagram in the last seven days.

Take a bite and bring on the food sweats.

When I worked as a life model, one of the men in the class told my friend Georgie that I had—and I quote—”A great rack.” My friends, under this XL grey Umbro jumper, I genuinely do have a hot set of meat bones interlaced like praying hands where most women’s tits might be. I know. A great rack.

In the case of Fries vs Roe, the state finds in favour of the defendant, a Ms Saul T. Schnacks. Your body is your own to season as you wish.

Do you remember that kissing scene in the 1999 teen smash Cruel Intentions where Sarah “Buffy” Michelle Gellar teaches Selma Blair about “first base”? Where the former takes off her sunglasses and orders the latter to “massage my tongue with yours”? And they leave the most enormous spit trail right there across the screen, hanging between their bottom lips like a telegraph wire? I can’t think why on earth this would make me think of that. No ma’am.

People who say “scrummy” should, by law, also have to grow out their entire eyebrows and be forced to do that strange sitting-down-wiggle that all mums do when they eat a cake made by anyone under the age of 86.

Protein, protein, protein, proteeeiiin! I’m beggin’ of you please don’t take my man. Your beauty is beyond compare, with flaming yolks of ovum hair, with ivory skin and eyes of meaty sheen.

There’s nothing quite so delicious as a wooden dry ski slope covered in the remnants of an igloo building site and that below-zero Emerald City theme park. Absolutely mouth-watering.

I once met a woman who tried to eat a cactus, in some sort of Scandinavian institution, in a bid to move rooms. I know another woman who once ate the head of a carnation in an attempt to appear “eccentric” and “sexy” in front of a guitar band. I also know a woman who eats rocket picked from the side of the canal, precisely four metres from a dog poo bin. Women, huh.

Oh hold on—is this what that strange pink juice in the IKEA restaurant is made from? I’d sort of assumed it was just a diluted form of whatever chemical dye the Swedish furniture emporium use to get all those rag rugs the precise shade of hospital magenta.

Dear food stylists, never change. Never ever change.