August 24th, 2009
Growing up Jewish, I never heard mom, say, “Kids, breakfast is on. Because one of you made straight A’s(hint, not me) you’re deserving of a bacon morning.” Eating cured meat from a pig just didn’t happen in the house that was Kabat. Jesus(Moses), having sweet cereal was even a rare occurrence. We were fiber friendly. No, I didn't grow up in a devoutly kosher home…ya know, “The Chosen People” who only eat meat that is slaughtered in accordance with Jewish law. This might be interpreted as going overboard but mind you we are the people that chit chat with burning bushes, self induce anorexia once a year with the hopes of atoning our sins and eat food that falls from the sky while mall speed walking through the desert for 40 yrs.
80% of the time, I eat relatively well. It’s how I grew up and quite simply, it just makes me feel better. I admit that I am a food racist who generally avoids white food which includes dairy, sugar and processed gems. I come from the school of “The whiter the bread the quicker you’re dead.” But complete and total deprivation is sinful. My remaining 20% is totally committed to wreaking havoc on mind, body and spirit.
Future blogs might very well delve into not living as God intended. But today I want to earnestly praise (the not saluted nearly enough)creators of BACON.
They need to know that I have uttered the phrase, “Come-hither, you provocatively arousing meat. I make no apologies for turning a blind eye to the pragmatic truth that your sweet flavor and tender crispness is seductively enhanced by villainous F-A-T.”
My dilemma. I want to hand write a thank you note (that I will scan and email) to the geniuses who conceptualized this otherworldly pleasure. I am perplexed as to who should receive my gratitude. Cavemen? Canadians? But I just don’t feel comfortable reaching out to prehistoric characters and our neighbors to the north because I feel they might both be popular stock characters based upon stereotyped concepts.
So I am left to send my letter to Johnson and Phillips, reoccurring fictionalized (but real in my heart) modern day ahead of their time marketing execs.
The birth of the bacon brainchild went down in a boardroom in midtown Manhattan like so:
JOHNSON: Let’s tie a pig's legs to prevent kicking and pull back its head to expose the throat. Then we’ll brutally stab the pig deeply in the throat. We should probably repeat this step several times because it’s a trip. Next we’ll cover the carcass with hay and set it on fire, this will burn away bristles and hair. Stay with me Phillips. Yes, I did fuck your wife. Then we’ll remove the head and legs from the carcass with a hatchet and set them aside for later use. Of course this step is optional. Finally we’ll send the pork to a meat processing plant. And the result..baconmania!
PHILLIPS: Johnson..that's CRAZY..because.. I was thinking the same thing! Let’s make out.