Gentle visitors, one must wonder when it was that the phrase, "bringing home the bacon", made its sad transition from the literal to the figurative. No doubt, it coincided with the first stirrings of the health bolsheviks, who began by preaching their wild-eyed heterodoxy of "good" and "bad" cholesterol -- as if anything so good could ever be bad, unless it had lain in the larder too long -- and ended by commanding us (the eating petit-bourgeoisie) to eschew such cholesterol-rich items as bacon.
Well, your humble Contributor would rather chew than eschew. And, so, on a Sunday morn, after having attended the sabbath rituals, he lays several of the fatty strips upon the griddle, arranging them lengthwise -- north to south, though this is an individual preference based upon the belief that a longitudinal presentation yields a more satisfactory result, given polar attractions -- listening for that first sizzle, watching for that first shedding of grease, and sniffing for the first aromatic release.
Yes, gentle visitors, all of the senses are keenly involved in the process, -- even, touch for what would these porcine slices be without their characteristic crunch under tooth -- the last and greatest sense of all being taste. Ah, the taste! But, do not think that the poor remains of a turkey fashioned into a crude simulacrum could approach this: smoked meat, crackled fat, and salt sufficient to get the heart started (or stopped, as the occasion may require).
And, not just bacon. For, as good as it is in itself, alone it would be like poor Adam forlorn in the Garden with all of his ribs intact. No, the bacon requires a mate of equal nobility -- and, roughly equivalent levels of cholesterol -- but of a different, though complimentary character.
Thus, your erstwhile Chef, employing the slick leavings of the bacon, taps two shells on the griddle edge and watches the metamorphosis of the pair of poultry precursors from gelatinous globs to sturdy yet flexible vittles in the skillet. Thence, a quick flip to affect the mode "over easy": and, how easily they slide onto the plate prepared for them!
Add a few slightly charred fruits of the grain, with an application of churned dairy product and, perhaps, the preserve of apricot and -- viola -- the perfect grand petit dejeuner! Already we feel the vessels bursting with lipids of the best sort.
And, why not? We've known for 750 years that Bacon was a great friar.
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