A cross posting from my Posterous space - a short imagining some implications of lab-grown meat.
He was a huge man, thick forearms dotted with burns and pale scars. He spoke in a dull monotone about the unique difficulties in preparing synthetic meat. Roscoe wondered how much he weighed, and tried to calculate how much that would be worth when sold in Longpig wrappers. As he spoke, Roscoe noticed the chef was absent-mindedly palpating his own arm, as if feeling for the texture of the meat under his skin.
Nice story, but...
Lab grown meat is bad because we'll find out how delicious women are?
Also, you totally telegraphed the ending. Try not using hunger to describe the look in the man's eye like, two thirds of the way in.