When Bacon Attacks

“We plan, we toil, we suffer – in the hope of what?  A camel-load of idol’s eyes?  The title deeds of Radio City?  The empire of Asia?  A trip to the moon?  No, no, no, no.  Simply to wake just in time to smell coffee and bacon and eggs.”  ~J.B. Priestly

Once upon a time. In a land not so far away but far enough of away that the local grocers sell Canadian candy; I went to Girl Scout camp. Let me be precise and say that I went to Girl Scout camp for 13 years. This was back in the day when my commie, pinko, dirty hippie side would only be able to make its appearance for roughly two weeks a year. But when you’re pre-pubescent it’s far more exciting to pee in the woods and have the smell of camp fire embedded in every fiber of your well worn clothing. I waded in creeks, drank whole milk, kissed a girl (or three) and passionately defended the rights of Jeremiah, a bull frog, and all the fishies in the sea.

It was a residual affect of 13 years of sinking knee deep into my own hippie liberalism. That I ventured into vegetarianism. Of course it was completely contrary to anything my parents preached or taught me about food. Hell, I still remember the siren call of Whopper Night after soccer practice. But that was me then and that is the one thing that – much to my parents chagrin – has yet to change; to go against the grain in the opposite direction they are headed towards. I think it’s part of my charm.

And so for years, almost eight to be exact my father has asked if I’m still on that “no meat diet”. For years, I had to make special trips for veggie burgers while the rest of my family held slabs of ribs in their hands. Eyeing my suspiciously as I enjoyed a multigrain mushroom burger while they allowed for a nice mixture of barbecue sauce and pork grease to run down their arms. And there I sat odd one out.

It wasn’t a political thing. Oh, please. I can sniff a Coach store from a mile away and I love to stick my head into a brand new bag to get high off of the smell of leather. It was just an ‘eh’ thing. I was never all that interested in meat so why bother. So going back wasn’t an issue. I braved the meat section of the co-op (still a dirty, liberal, hippy who eats that free range, grass fed $28 per burger stuff) and picked up some beef for a salad. I marinated. Sautéed. And had some beef. There was no excitement or thrill or sudden need to vomit. There was no major declaration unlike when I stopped and made a stand against my parents. My mother: “Ok, that’s nice”. My father: “The fuck?!?”

That is no declaration until today when I was smelled bacon. I was that dog in running laps around a table saying “baconbaconbaconbaconbaconbacon…BACON!!” So I had some bacon. You know, prior to vegetarianism I hated bacon. When it came to pork I was disinterested. Chops were rammed down my throat with a side of menacing threat and sausage could only be in link form. But once I took a bite of that bacon today? Everything gray turned to a beautiful blue. The sun peeked out a little more and birds chirped on my shoulders. And little mice started doing my chores while dwarves whistled while I worked. I think ‘delicious’ is the word I’m looking for here.

I’m now anxiously awaiting an email from my friend Torrie, telling me to step away from the barbecue pit and put down the hot dog. But once bacon has its hold on you, it’s so hard to pry it lose. There it is attached to you and your taste buds they remember as I finally understand the fuss and the fanfare. That crispy, smoky, sweetness. The melt in your mouth sensation. My god, Internet. I completely and totally get it.