This past weekend we had family staying with us so my wife made a preemptive trip to Trader Joes. On her way out the door, I shouted “Bacon”! Of course, I meant the “Black Forest Uncured bacon” for those of you who have had it. It’s beyond. But as her car drove away I had to ask myself how this single item had affected my life enough that I’m literally shouting the word with an urgent, almost desperate tone as if her not bringing it back would result in some irreversible calamity. Was it the crisp, slightly burned edges or the chewy, salty texture of the center? The slight sweetness of the black forest spices or the saturated fat unleashing a Pavlovian response from my childhood breakfast table? Who knows? The point is (and it’s been said before)… bacon f*#cking rocks!
When she came home I rifled through the bags like a kid getting to the bottom of a box of Lucky Charms until I found it.
This time it wouldn’t be just bacon and me. Keenly aware of its versatility, it would be joined with some heirloom tomatoes, crisp romaine, avocado and lots of mayo stacked on a couple slices of 7- grain bread for the most insane BLT ever.
Sitting proudly in its majesty on a plate next to a tall Bloody Mary, I was ready for Seahawks vs Bengals.
Thank you Sunday. Thank you bacon.