This Saturday is a friend’s bachelor party. Since few things are as stereotypically manly as meaty feasts, we decided to begin the festivities at the Green Forest Cafe, Pittsburgh’s only churrascaria. Those of you unfamiliar with this concept, brace yourselves, as I explain the meat-eating genius of Brazil. Basically, a guy with charred meaty delights on a spit wanders periodically from table to table slicing bits off on request. Each table is given a little block of wood with red and green poles. Diners flip the block so the green side’s up to signify they want what the meat-man’s offering, then they flip it to red to take a break and digest in preparation for continued gluttony.

This is clearly an excellent way to begin a bachelor party (for carnivores, at least), and this time I intend to do it right. In the past we’ve been… undisciplined. We gorged ourselves on the tantalizing flesh, barely coming up for air, until we were utterly spent, bloated, gasping. Then we waddled home and wept in shame at our failure to maximize our consumption of sizzling beasts. This time will be different. We will pace ourselves, repeatedly flipping the magic meat marker to pause while duplicative meats pass us by. And then, hours later, after sampling every last variety of meat the establishment has on offer, we will stagger home to poop.

Any suggestions on how to ease the digestion of obscene quantities of meat?