September 24, 2008
I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve had it with bacon. Let’s be clear: I love bacon as much as the next person. I just can’t understand the mass bacon worship cropping up in every restaurant, bar, and blog. I love waking up to the smell of it, but (sorry Denise) I don’t need an alarm clock to cook it at my bedside. I love eating it next to a mound of warm, syrupy French toast, but I’m not interested in turning my breakfast into a miniature, perishable Stonehenge.
I used it as the base for a Bolognese sauce last week because I couldn’t be bothered to go out and buy pancetta, and it tasted great. But, I’m not going to weave strips of it into serving cups, placemats, squiggly garnishes—or better yet, tiaras. And I am definitely not going to floss my teeth with it.
Oh yeah. Fuck you, loser. Bacon rules and always will rule. Go stick that pancetta in the tailpipe of your Obama stickered Jeep TrailRated.
And did I say "Fuck You"? Because that is how I feel.
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