Chapter 19

Winter came, and so did COVID. Six months into the pandemic, as if life wasn’t already bleak enough, I started developing a face rash. At first, it just looked like something was going on with my nose. Then it spread to my cheeks. Soon, my entire face was puffy, inflamed, and—let’s not sugarcoat it—ugly. It burned like hell, too. Every morning, I’d wake up, look in the mirror, and see a new level of horrifying.

I felt like I was trapped in a Black Mirror episode—one where the main character wakes up each morning looking worse and worse until society quietly decides to exile him. Because I didn’t want to go anywhere. I didn’t want to touch my face. I didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone. I definitely didn’t want to take off my mask. If you’ve ever had a huge, angry rash on your face, then you know—nothing ruins your day faster than waking up and seeing something in the mirror that looks like it should be quarantined on its own.

Worse, I had no idea what caused it. Could’ve been anything—food sensitivity, an environmental toxin, stress from the move and the new job, a brain tumor, the COVID vaccine, or maybe even my self-inflicted torture-texts with my ex.

I became obsessed with getting rid of it. First, I threw out all my soaps, shampoos, and detergents. I spent a fortune on creams and ointments, none of which worked—unless you count “making it angrier” as a result. I switched to a zinc-based sunscreen. Then no sunscreen at all. Maybe it was my light therapy lamp? I stopped using it. No change. Maybe my skincare routine—or lack thereof—was the problem? Maybe all those guys with their fancy exfoliants and cleansers were onto something? So, I tried that too. Nothing.

Then I thought, it must be the tobacco because I had started dipping again when I was trucking—maybe that triggered it. I quit. The rash did not.

Desperate, I started eliminating foods. Nuts and seeds? Gone. Nothing. Fish? Stopped eating it. Nothing. Eggs? Ditched them for weeks. Still, nothing. Then I went full-on hippie mode and tried every naturopathic, home-remedy, snake-oil solution I could find. Some of them were so ridiculous I wouldn’t even admit to them under oath. And guess what? None of that crap worked either.

TOTAL ELIMINATION DIET

“You can’t blame the wolf, lamb’s delicious.” —Nicky, Orange is the New Black

Somewhere in my late-night internet deep dives, I stumbled across the concept of a total elimination diet. The idea is simple: eat nothing but cooked, unprocessed red meat until the mystery-problem goes away, then reintroduce other foods one by one to figure out what’s causing the problem.

This was known as the carnivore diet, and the guy who made it famous is a man named Shawn Baker. Shawn’s entire life revolves around eating steak, lifting weights, and going on podcasts to talk about how great beef is. That’s his thing. I respect it. If I could make a living talking about one thing I love, I’d do it too.

But the carnivore world is full of weirdos. Take Anthony Chaffee, also known as The Plant-Free MD. This guy claims that back when he was younger and eating a strict carnivore diet, he gained a full pound of muscle every single time he went to the gym. Now, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure if that were possible, Arnold would have achieved the density of a neutron star.

Chaffee also has this ridiculous tagline: “Plants are trying to kill you.” According to him, some wacky professor in college planted this idea in his head, and instead of laughing it off, he took it seriously. And look, I get it—academia is full of extremists. My personal favorite is a sociology professor from the Vegas community college, Mark J. Bird, who once brought a gun to campus and shot himself in the bathroom as a protest against Trump. You’ve got to respect the dedication. Most people just Tweet.

Problem is, people blindly trust MDs and professors because of their titles, which is a mistake. Just because someone made it through med school doesn’t mean they’re a genius. Maybe they just worked hard. Maybe they cheated. Maybe their parents pulled some strings. The U.S. education system is a joke, and don’t even get me started on the criminal justice system—where if you’re rich enough, you can literally get away with murder on national television. Meanwhile, if you’re poor, a minor offense can derail your entire life.

But back to Chaffee. Maybe Chaffee knows exactly what he’s doing. Maybe he knows clickbait nonsense works. The more ridiculous the first impression, the bigger the audience. Marilyn Manson figured that out decades ago.

The idea of eating nothing but muscle meat sounded like terrible diet advice. But as a former meth addict, I’ve done worse.

Besides, elimination diets aren’t exactly new. Vince Gironda had bodybuilders living off steak and eggs in the 1900s. The ethnologist Vilhjalmur Stefansson came back from the Arctic after living with the Inuit, swearing by an all-meat diet. Even the dentist Weston A. Price went around studying indigenous diets and found plenty of cultures thriving on mostly animal-based nutrition.

And it’s not like I planned to eat only red meat forever. I just wanted my damn face back. I was sick of wearing masks in places that no longer required them. And the rash? It itched, burned, and made sleeping miserable. I was desperate. And when you’re desperate, a diet of nothing but water and red meat places somewhere on the “things I’m willing to tolerate when I have a giant rash on my face” spectrum.

So I went all in: beef, lamb, and eggs. Nothing else.

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