Before finally giving in and reluctantly surrendering my greenbacks to a truck called Bacon Bacon - that was recently parked outside the F*ck Your New Year’s Resolution Party - it was obvious that people have always had a strong affection for bacon. Why else would they have molded phraseology around what now describes the person who wears the pants in a relationship as, “bringing home the bacon?” Would it have worked if the phrase was, “bringing home the vanilla custard?” In fact, the phrase was a literal term in 12th century England, where the church would bestow a slab of bacon on some lucky dude that could assure he hadn’t fought with his ‘trouble and strife’ in the last year.
It became more obvious that Americans were gaga for that smoked and cured pork belly in 2011-2012′s over-hyped bacon-mania. Gluttonous Americans were idolizing that side slab that can be cut into thick pieces and cooked low and slow resulting in a melting streak of crispy fat against tender meat. Or, sliced paper thin and left to its own devices in a cast-iron skillet, rendering most of its fat and leaving us with shatter-crispy pieces and drippings for the gravy you schmucks are going to inevitably douse over biscuits. And even in 2014, there are folks who cashed in on the trend and are still holding on to their businesses that pay tribute to the addictive swine product.
My dude and I dove into Bacon Bacon’s delicious looking $9 trough of porky fries covered in pork shoulder covered in sturdy pieces of bacon covered in shame. And how I do remember the dry shoulder.
And here I am, once again, complaining about the lack of seasoning. You’re thinking that the bacon, (three) pickled peppers and finished with Parmesan are going to add enough salt content, right? Wrong. That’s exactly what you’re not supposed to assume. You have to season EVERY LAYER (20:21). Because now you’ve just given me a pretty awesome dish that I’d be lucky to eat on any day, and all I can taste is bland. Bland ass fries, albethey crunchy, that would highly shine in the presence of some finishing salt. I’m not an advocate for ketchup, regularly re-missing the condiment all together, but you’re gonna want to add it to these fries. And now I not only feel shameful, but the doomsday caloric intake was for nothing.
Yes, you’re not supposed to be feel good about eating this dish. But, there are times when you eat something sinful, and it tastes so delicious that you don’t regret it. I regretted these fries like that time I made out with a married man in the Motel 6 down the street from college campus.
Bacon fried chicken sandwich: sweet madre of hey-sus. My dude and I split a $9 panko-crusted and deep fried chicken breast, red cabbage coleslaw (also bland) on a bun slathered with bacon mayo. And I don’t think any non-beef sandwich deserves to be anywhere in the ballpark of $10, but I’d gladly pay the money for this perfectly crispy and suntanned chicken sandwich. It could possibly be the best chicken sandwich I’ve ever eaten…it just needed a wee bit more acid and salt. And it didn’t have pieces, or shards, or slices of bacon. In fact, it could probably stand on its own without the bacon in the mayo and without being fried in some bacon fat…which is what I’m assuming they do.
Just as the literate usage of “bringing home the bacon” has changed meanings to something more metaphorical, maybe we can convince people that we should change the phrase, “everything taste better with bacon” to something along the lines of, “You ever try a turd with bacon? Did it make it taste better? No? Then, shut the hell up!”
[Greater Bay Area]
Featured Image Courtesy of: Andi Fisher