If you’ve spent any time scrolling through Netflix or browsing the Outdoor Channel over the last decade, you’ve probably seen Steven Rinella’s face. He’s usually covered in mud, shivering in a high-alpine basin, or hunched over a carcass with a knife in his hand. But the TV show MeatEater isn't just another grip-and-grin hunting program where guys in camo high-five after shooting a deer. It’s different. Honestly, it’s probably the only hunting show that people who hate hunting actually enjoy watching.
That's a weird niche to occupy.
Rinella, a writer by trade before he was ever a "TV personality," brought something to the screen that was missing from the genre: brains. He doesn't just kill things. He talks about the history of the American West, the complex ethics of taking a life, and the biological reality of what it means to be a human being at the top of the food chain. Most hunting shows feel like long-form commercials for gear. MeatEater feels like a philosophy class that happens to take place in the middle of a blizzard in the Brooks Range.
The Steven Rinella Factor
Most people don't realize that Rinella didn't start out wanting to be a TV star. He was a writer for Outside magazine and wrote books like American Buffalo: In Search of a Lost Icon. That literary background is exactly why the show works. He understands narrative. He knows that the "kill" is actually the least interesting part of a three-day trek through the mountains.
The show's DNA is built on a specific brand of rugged intellectualism. You'll hear him quote Aldo Leopold or Teddy Roosevelt while he’s butchering an elk. It’s not pretentious, though. It feels more like a guy who just really, really cares about the land he's standing on. He makes it okay for hunters to be thinkers. That’s a bigger deal than it sounds. For years, the stereotype was just "rednecks in the woods," but Rinella basically took that stereotype and buried it in a shallow grave.
He’s also not afraid to fail. That’s the most human part of the TV show MeatEater. There are entire episodes where they don't get anything. They hike thirty miles, get rained on, lose their gear, and come home with empty coolers. In an industry built on "the big trophy," showing failure is a radical act of honesty. It reflects what hunting actually is for 90% of the people who do it: a lot of walking, a lot of cold coffee, and a very small chance of success.
Why the Food Matters More Than the Trophy
The title isn't "The Hunter." It's MeatEater.
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Every episode follows a specific trajectory: the preparation, the hunt, and—crucially—the meal. If you watch the show, you know the final segment is usually the best. Rinella, often joined by folks like Andrew Zimmern or professional chefs, turns what most people think of as "gamey" meat into something you’d find in a five-star restaurant.
They cook everything. Heart, liver, tongue, neck meat—nothing goes to waste. It’s a direct challenge to the "trophy hunting" culture. By focusing on the culinary aspect, the show anchors the act of hunting in something primal and justifiable: sustenance. You aren't just taking a life for a set of antlers; you're doing it because you want to feed your family something that didn't come out of a factory farm wrapped in plastic.
Think about the episode where they hunt javelina in the desert. Most hunters will tell you javelina tastes like a gym sock. Rinella and his crew spend the end of the episode slow-cooking it with traditional spices until it looks like world-class carnitas. It changes the perspective. It makes the viewer realize that the "gross" parts of nature are actually incredible if you have the skills to respect them.
The Ethics of the Kill on Screen
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room. Or the elk in the room.
People have a hard time watching animals die. The TV show MeatEater doesn't shy away from it, but it doesn't celebrate it with rock music and slow-motion replays like some other shows do. There’s a sobriety to it. Rinella often looks more relieved or even slightly somber when he walks up to an animal he’s just killed.
This nuanced approach has opened doors. He’s had guests like Joe Rogan, who brought a massive new audience to the show, but he’s also had vegans and animal rights activists on his podcast. He doesn't shout them down. He listens. He acknowledges that killing is a heavy thing. That level of transparency is rare. It builds a kind of trust with the audience. You feel like you’re getting the truth, even when the truth is messy and uncomfortable.
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Conservation is the Secret Sauce
If you watch enough episodes, you start to realize the show is secretly a massive advertisement for public lands. Rinella is a vocal advocate for the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation. This isn't just boring policy talk. It’s the reason why we still have places to hunt and fish in the first place.
He breaks down complex issues—like Chronic Wasting Disease (CWD) or the selling off of federal lands—into language that makes sense. He makes the viewer feel like a stakeholder. You realize that if you like seeing these wild places on your TV, you have a responsibility to help keep them wild. It’s "lifestyle" content with a political backbone, but not the annoying kind of politics. It's the "let's make sure our kids can see a grizzly bear" kind of politics.
The show has spawned an entire media empire, including the MeatEater Podcast, which is consistently at the top of the charts. They’ve bought other brands, hired experts like Janis Putelis and Mark Kenyon, and basically become the go-to source for anything involving the outdoors. But at the center of it all is still that original show, which feels remarkably consistent even after a dozen seasons.
Breaking the "Pro" Hunter Myth
One of the best things about the show is the "MeatEater Crew." These aren't polished TV presenters. They’re real hunters who make mistakes. They get winded. They miss shots. They argue about where the truck is parked.
Take Janis "The Latvian Eagle" Putelis. He started as a producer/cameraman and eventually became a lead personality. His dynamic with Steve is great because it feels like a real friendship. They needle each other. They disagree. It’s not a scripted drama; it’s just the natural friction of two guys who have spent too many days in a tent together.
This authenticity is what keeps people coming back. In a world of filtered Instagram posts and "perfect" lives, there’s something refreshing about watching a guy fall into a creek and spend the next twenty minutes trying to dry his socks over a fire. It’s relatable, even if you’ve never set foot in the woods.
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A Cultural Shift in the Outdoors
The TV show MeatEater has arguably done more to change the public perception of hunting than any marketing campaign in the last fifty years. It moved hunting from a niche, often misunderstood subculture into the mainstream. It’s now common to see "MeatEater" stickers on trucks in Brooklyn just as often as in Montana.
It tapped into a growing desire for "real" food and "real" experiences. As more people move into cities and spend their lives behind screens, the call of the wild—even if it’s just viewed through a screen—becomes louder. Rinella provides a bridge. He shows that you don't have to be a multi-generational hunter to start. You just need curiosity, a willingness to work hard, and a deep respect for the resource.
The show hasn't been without controversy, of course. Some "old school" hunters think he’s too intellectual or that he’s "giving away the secrets" to the general public, leading to crowded hunting spots. On the flip side, some anti-hunting groups think he’s just a "softer" version of the same thing they've always hated. But being criticized by both extremes usually means you’re standing right in the middle of the truth.
How to Get Started With the MeatEater Philosophy
If you’re inspired by the show and want to move beyond just being a spectator, there are some very concrete steps you can take. You don't have to go buy a $2,000 rifle tomorrow.
- Start with the books. Read American Buffalo or The Scavenger's Guide to Haute Cuisine. They provide the context that the show sometimes has to skip for time.
- Listen to the back catalog. The podcast is where the real deep-dives happen. Look for episodes featuring biologists or historians; that’s where the "why" of the show really comes alive.
- Learn to cook wild game. Even if you don't hunt, you can often find high-quality, farm-raised venison or elk. Try the recipes from the MeatEater Fish and Game Cookbook. It’ll change how you think about meat.
- Support public lands. Check out organizations like Backcountry Hunters & Anglers (BHA). This is the "action" part of the show's message. Protecting the land is the only way the show—and the lifestyle—continues to exist.
- Take a Hunter Safety course. Even if you never intend to pull a trigger, the safety and conservation history taught in these classes is eye-opening for anyone who spends time outdoors.
The real legacy of the TV show MeatEater isn't just the entertainment. It's the way it forces us to look at our place in the natural world. It reminds us that we aren't separate from nature; we’re part of it. And being part of it comes with a messy, beautiful, and heavy responsibility. Whether you're a lifelong hunter or a city dweller who just likes a good story, there’s something in that message that sticks with you long after the credits roll.