Who doesn’t love bacon?*
Bacon is sublime. Bacon is magical. Whether enrobed in chocolate, hanging from a Christmas tree or just gracing your breakfast plate, its crunchy, fatty, salty goodness can’t be beat. There’s nothing that can’t be improved with the addition of a little bacon. In fact, I never met a piece I didn’t like.
Part-time blogger, full-time beloved sister Terry (aka Tar-Buns) went to Maine last year and had a wonderful time. Although she did NOT get to see the state’s primary claim to fame (now that they kicked out Jessica Fletcher). Miss Darla of She’s A Maineiac, she and her hubby did get to sit back, relax, and consume mass quantities of lobster. She was even thoughtful enough to bring me back a little souvenir of her trip. These things.
“Uncle Oinkers” – how fun is that? Look at that happy, piggy face. Isn’t it cheesy? Isn’t it fun? I chortled with glee as I flipped open the tin. I was still chuckling as I selected a little mint, and popped it in my mouth. Then all chortling ceased.
This brutal assault to the taste-buds starts with a dash of fake, bacon flavoring. Not like Bac-Os; those are too authentic. Baconish like a generic, all-chemical, knock-off version of Bac-Os called “Bak-oos”. You buy them from a shifty guy who says “psst, c’mere, buddy” from an alleyway, who has a trench coat lined with bootlegged “Bak-oos.” Mix that with a stick of Double-mint Gum. Have you ever taken milk of magnesia for an upset stomach? Remember that vile, chalky sensation in your mouth? Put some of that stuff in as well. Mix it up good, and put it in a Tic-tac sized mint.
They packed a lot of yuck in a tiny bit of real estate.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if Tar was trying to poison me, to improve her love/inheritance ratio with Mom & Dad. I reacted without pausing to think, and spit the thing out. I also must have hurled the tin across the room, but I blocked the experience from my mind.
Fast-forward 6 months. I discovered the dusty, piggy tin the other day when moving a chair to vacuum underneath. I debated calling the bomb squad for disposal, but figured the tin container should be enough to shield humanity from the contents. Into the trash it went.
Why am I bringing this all up? Why here…why now? The thing is, I don’t think I ever sent a thank you note. All this time, Terry probably thinks I have zero manners. She may have even told Mom! So Tar, if you’re reading:
*with apologies to my Jewish friends