Right now, my entire apartment smells like bacon. I finished cleaning up dinner hours ago. And yet the smoky-sweet aroma is still lingering.
It makes me think of when I was a kid and we'd go visit my Nana and Pa on the farm. My mother and her mother would always be up with the crows (as they'd say) and make a feast of a breakfast that the rest of us would graze on whenever the spirit moved us to finally get out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning. I, however, took no pleasure in sleeping in. I was always awakened by the bacon alarm. The second that smell drifted over my nostrils I would leap from my bed, run down the stairs, turn a sharp corner it to the kitchen, bolt halfway into the room and stop. I would then take a dramatic inhale through my nose and excitedly announce "I smell bacon!" to my mother, aunt and grandmother sipping coffee at the table.
I think I must have eaten a little too much bacon on one of those mornings once upon a time because my love for bacon mysteriously evaporated sometime before I hit teenage years. What a fool I was then. I don't love it as much now...or maybe it's just that I now understand arterial blockage...so I don't eat it all that often, but when I do, it's kind of wonderful.
That is why I felt compelled to share with you the current state of the air in my home.
And now, to complete this cop-out blog post (because did I really just apostrophize about bacon that entire time?) I shall lead you to other people who will talk more about bacon:
The birthplace of the bacon martini:
A coworker of mine made these for a cookie exchange last Christmas...they were surprisingly delicious:
And some more bacon for y'all:
Regularly scheduled recipe posting to resume on the next entry. Please pardon the interruption.