Jason Momoa Is Hollywood’s Apex Badass. However There’s Greater To Him Than Bikes And Red Meat
“You eat meat, right?” Jason Momoa asks as we circulate through his meantime Toronto residence—a 3-story Victorian—into the yard, where two large tomahawk rib-eyes hiss and smoke over a glowing grill.
“right here, seize one,” he says, snatching up the hunk of meat, childlike grin smeared throughout his signaturely hirsute face. The severe greeting looks medieval, traditional Momoa—downright Dothraki—so I do as Khal Drogo instructs, keeping up a smoldering, frenched rib bone just long ample for a selfie.