In a move that has left economists scratching their heads and British pub owners rubbing their palms together, President Donald Trump has decided that the key to making Britain "great again" lies in the delicious embrace of American beef and the glimmer of shiny imports. This past week, Trump unveiled his bold plan to slash tariffs on UK autos, steel, and — perhaps most importantly — the quintessentially American wonder: beef. One can only imagine the fragrant wafts of barbecue slowly drifting across the Atlantic. The negotiations have reportedly been tense. UK officials are said to have brought in a specialist in "beef diplomacy," learning how to charm Trump with succulent steak recipes and offers of tea made with freshly imported American dairy. Word has it that they even discussed changing the British flag to showcase a litany of meat cuts below the Union Jack. After all, what says "greatness" more than a meat-themed national emblem? As Trump nudges the trade deal closer to finalization, it’s become apparent that it’s not just about the beef, but also a plethora of "streamlined" customs processes. Because nothing says good governance like cutting through red tape with the promotional gleam of a 52-ounce prime rib. Americans will surely relish the thought of British customs agents rapidly ushering their sweetened tea blends and scones through a new "meat express" line, which will undoubtedly become a tourist attraction in itself. But hold your horses—or, rather, your cattle! Critics have raised eyebrows about the potential for economic downturns as a result of the tariffs being lifted. They argue that while it may make British cars a tad cheaper, it could lead to a "beef bubble" while simultaneously inflating the prices of everything else, especially if everyone suddenly decides they need an American BBQ grill for their backyards. In a competitive effort to boost sales in the UK, the American Beef Council has launched a new marketing campaign: "Beef It to Greatness!" featuring animated cows in top hats and monocles. Meanwhile, the British government is considering a counter-campaign to highlight traditional fare, illuminating the benefits of "bangers and mash" and possibly even mashed peas to combat the incoming beef tsunami. As the trade agreement inches closer to reality, the world holds its breath to see if the British appetite for American beef—combined with the nostalgia of old-school car manufacturing—will be enough to truly elevate the UK to new economic heights, or if it will merely leave consumers with a satirical craving for a cheeseburger and a side of existential dread regarding their economic future. New polls suggest that UK citizens are now praying that their love of tea can withstand the onslaught of American BBQ and that there will still be room on their plates for some semblance of local culinary tradition. In the meantime, the question on everyone’s minds, as the beef flows and tariffs tumble, is: Will they ever be able to look at their roast beef dinner the same way again?