Seventeen Kinds of Beef

Carpaccio, brisket, cheese steak, parmesan patty, ground beef with jalapeños, tongue, jus, beef ham—seventeen different kinds of beef stacked in one sandwich at Red’s True BBQ in Manchester and Leeds. Around 2,500 calories, thirty quid, served on Father’s Day because the timing felt right.

This exists almost as a dare. Not sophisticated or clever, just sheer commitment to the idea that more is fundamentally better. You look at it and feel some mix of repulsion and genuine need to understand what seventeen different beef preparations actually taste like together. It’s a burger with no interest in proportion or elegance. It just wants to be huge.

There’s something perfectly aligned about serving it on Father’s Day—meat, indulgence, the stubborn appetite to eat something impractical just because you can. No counting calories. No apologies.

I’d buy a plane ticket just to eat this. Not for the museums or the countryside, just this burger and whatever happens to my stomach afterward.