I’ve been asked by fellow blogger Jessie Reyna if I’d like to participate in her writing experiment called Turn Noun For WHAT?!
You can read more about her writing experiment here. She had a group of bloggers each choose three nouns and then selected one using a random number generator. Whichever noun was the “chosen one” would be the subject of a blog post for all of us. The chosen word was Bacon.
I feel like the least qualified person to write about bacon because I don’t eat it. Mostly because when I look at it, this is what I see.
I also don’t eat chicken, turkey, beef, or any other land animal for that matter. When it comes to surf and turf I eat the surf only. I’m a hypocrite, I know. Why do I assume land animals have more feelings than water dwellers? Why do I look at a hamburger and feel disgust and then look at a crab cake right after and drool? I’m getting off track. This post is supposed to be about bacon. Greasy, crispy, fatty bacon. Here’s what I DO remember about consuming those meaty strips of Winnie the Pooh’s bff…
When I was in college bacon cured any hangover. It didn’t matter if I’d been dancing the night away to Hollaback Girl (for some reason that song was the shit in 2006), or blacking out in the hallway; Bacon was the anecdote to the poison that is Southern Comfort.
I’d arise after a night full of binge drinking, unable to move. It wasn’t that my body wouldn’t allow it but my mind was all like “Bitch, if you get up out of this bed I’ll make your head hurt with the power of 37 atomic bombs!”
I would change out of my pajama pants into slightly less dirty pajama pants and force myself to walk to the cafeteria. As soon as I got a whiff of the orgasmic bacon musk, I already started to feel better. Now that I think about it, just the smell alone was 80% of the healing power of the bacon. I should have mashed a few pieces up and slept with it on my chest. Bacon: the Vicks Vapor Rub of the meat world.
Walking up to the line of breakfast foods was always exciting, yet intimidating. There were cafeteria ladies who were required to portion our desired food onto the plate. We didn’t get along. Why not? Because while every other student strolled up to the line with their plate asking for a variety of eggs, fruit, and meats, I used a bowl.
“You want fruit in that?” the cafeteria lady asked.
“No.” I snapped mid-yawn. “I want bacon. Just a bowl full of bacon.”
This was usually followed with an eyeroll but ultimately who could deny me my right to eat five pounds of bacon? No one. That’s who.
I’d pair my fancy meat bowl with a cup of coffee and sit down to eat. Piece after piece disappeared down my gullet. With each strip of crispy pork I felt like a new woman. Who needed multivitamins when there was bacon?
I repeated this tradition every weekend. In a way, bacon saved me. Sure, I gained weight but I lost the hangover.
DISCLAIMER: I am not a physician. Drinking a 12 pack of beer should not be followed with 12 pounds of bacon. Side effects of too much bacon may include high cholesterol, weight gain, turning into a pig yourself, adopting the nickname “Greasy Pete,” building a bacon girlfriend, eating your bacon girlfriend, consistently smelling like a Bob Evans, and death.
Visit the below bloggers also participating in today’s Turn Noun for WHAT?!