Would You Eat the One You Love? Asking for a Friend

A Valentine’s review of Tender is the Flesh, where romance meets fine dining in the worst way possible.

Look, I know Valentine’s Day is supposed to be about love, romance, overpriced flowers, and the desperate attempt to book a restaurant reservation before realizing you’ll be spending the night eating sushi in your car. But honestly, why settle for a basic love story when you could read Tender is the Flesh—a novel that asks the very important question: What if love, but also cannibalism?

It’s not even a metaphor. There is no Oh, love is like devouring another person poetic nonsense happening here. No. In this world, humans are straight-up cattle. Farmed, processed, sold in fancy butcher shops with artisanal cuts and organic labels, probably with some dude in a mustache telling you the terroir really makes the thigh meat sing. It’s dystopia, sure, but it’s also capitalism doing what capitalism does best: figuring out how to profit off the absolute worst thing imaginable. And somehow, love is still trying to exist in this world of nightmare-grade horrors, like a cockroach scuttling across the ruins of a relationship gone nuclear.

And listen. I need you to really absorb this. We’re not talking about some sci-fi Soylent Green situation where people are being secretly turned into food. Oh no. We’re way past that. The government is on board. Society has adapted. It is just normal now. Your local grocery store? Stocked with ethically sourced head meat. Your fancy farm-to-table restaurant? Offering a heritage-breed ribeye that used to have a name. Imagine standing in the checkout line at Whole Foods behind a woman debating whether she wants free-range baby back ribs or if she should spring for the dry-aged option because, you know, special occasion.

And people are still out here falling in love. Because of course they are.

Love in the Time of Capitalism (and Cannibalism)

Our main guy, Marcos, works in the special meat industry. He’s one of those classic dystopian protagonists—emotionally hollow, lost, probably hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. He’s doing his job, keeping his head down, pretending not to be absolutely dead inside. Until his boss gifts him a woman. No, not for dinner—though, let’s be honest, that was probably the intended use. Instead of tossing her on the grill like a USDA Prime filet, he keeps her. And you know where this is going.

Romance.

Or whatever counts as romance when you live in a world where Love Language: Acts of Service means “Hey babe, I didn’t turn you into stew today.”

But let’s pause. Imagine dating in this world. Imagine swiping through Tinder, where instead of asking people their favorite hobbies, you have to casually confirm whether or not they’ve eaten a human before. “Oh, you’re vegetarian? But like… normal vegetarian or because the grocery store ran out of beef?” Marcos, at least, seems to understand that this is not how things should be, which is more than I can say for some of the characters in this book, who are out here talking about marbling like they’re picking out a Wagyu steak.

And still, somehow, he gets attached. Starts feeling things. Starts seeing her as a person rather than a future meal. Which, in this world, is basically the equivalent of running away together in the rain. True love, baby.

Bone Tomahawk Energy, but Make It Romantic

If you’ve ever seen Bone Tomahawk, you already know the exact kind of stomach-turning, slow-dread, flesh-horror vibe we’re working with here. The limbless, pegs- hammered-into-their-eyes, pregnant women scene? That’s the kind of imagery Tender is the Flesh loves. It leans into the grotesque, forces you to sit in it, makes you feel complicit just by reading. It’s the kind of book that gets under your skin, burrows in, and festers there like a particularly nasty thought you can’t shake.

And yet, it’s not just horror. It’s satire. It’s biting, vicious social commentary. It’s so close to reality that you start to feel itchy, like when you realize Oh, wait, the dystopian future is just today but slightly worse. The way it talks about human farming is exactly how we talk about factory farming now. The justifications, the ethical debates, the cold, corporate efficiency—none of it is exaggerated. That’s what makes it so much worse.

Also, let’s talk about the fact that Marcos still has to deal with all the regular bullshit of being alive. Even in a world where people are legally being turned into charcuterie boards, he’s still out here mourning his dead kid, dealing with existential dread, trying to navigate relationships. Because no matter how bad things get, life keeps happening. Capitalism keeps capitalizing. You still have to go to work, pay your bills, pretend you’re fine. Even when your job is literally managing a human slaughterhouse.

Honestly, love is the least believable part of this entire book.

Would I Recommend This as a Valentine’s Read?

Yes. Absolutely.

Not because it’s romantic. Not because it will restore your faith in love. But because nothing will make you appreciate the normalcy of your life quite like reading about people seasoning their neighbors with rosemary and garlic.

And if you’re single on Valentine’s Day? Even better. You think your dating life is bleak? Imagine trying to find a boyfriend in a world where someone might be looking at you like hmm, medium-rare or well-done? Marcos fell for a woman who literally didn’t have a voice, which, honestly, is just a horrifyingly poetic metaphor for how much men love women who don’t talk back.

But truly, Tender is the Flesh is the book for when you want something fucked up, deeply unsettling, and horrifyingly close to reality. It’s the book equivalent of a meal that tastes great, but halfway through you realize something is very wrong and by the time you finish, you’re staring at your plate like what have I done?

So this Valentine’s Day, forget the heart-shaped chocolates. Crack open this absolute fever dream of a book and remind yourself that no matter how bad things are, at least you are not currently being dry-aged for a corporate dinner party.

Happy reading.

Buy the book here: Amazon

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