“But there’s blood.” Bethel nods to the red pool collecting in the warped basin of the cutting board.

“They make that, too,” he says. “Heme, it’s called. Soy leghemoglobin.” He slaps the beef back down and begins dicing it. “But that’s an important observation, Bethel.” He lifts up his knife and wipes his finger against the flat side, coating his skin in red. “What I find the most interesting is that, even if people claim they’re disgusted by eating a dead animal, they still want to replicate the experience. That’s why people order meatless burgers, right? They don’t want pea protein. They want cow. But they still want to feel like good people. And so, in order to convince anyone to buy it, we have to reassure them of their own morality, while also allowing them to briefly believe that what they’re eating is real. And in order to do that? We have to give it blood.”