Ruminations and recipes from a small kitchen in a big city.


The smell of bacon ...

... mixed with aroma of brewing coffee at dawn before the traffic has started and the world is still quiet

... when you were ten and your mother took the pie out of the oven and cut it at the table and steam curled in the air and the aroma of baked egg and bacon and pastry was like something you had never smelled before

... in a takeaway when you are as hungry as a tiger and the sandwich hand slips your freshly toasted $5 bacon and egg sandwich (extra butter on top) into a brown paper bag and you sit in the park and pull out your newspaper and tear open the paper bag that is now partially translucent

... when it is cooked so long in the pan it crumbles into deep red shards of salty crunchiness, because that's how you like it best

... on the fish shop grill when George the Greek throws it down next to the meat pattie and the onions and the egg and he drags the bacon around to turbo-charge the heat and it sizzles and pops and then he builds your burger

... when it comes out of the oven in small strips wrapped around oysters and you are old enough to remember angels on horseback

... mixed with worcestershire sauce and hot oyster shells on a plate covered in rock salt and you're old enough to remember oysters kilpatrick

... in a pan on the coals of a fire on a hot night after a day's march when the sun has dipped below the line of the near hills but you can still feel the heat in the rocks and the air

... frying with liver and onions when you stop for lunch at midday in the dim lounge of a small outback town hotel that has a balcony and a tiled front and its name etched into the glass in the front door, and drinkers bent to the bar and no poker machines; and the bacon and liver and onions come out with buttered bread on an oval monogrammed stoneware plate circa 1960, and you eat it and leave and drive on into a flat landscape of red dust and no trees and it is early summer and you have no particular destination and all the time in the world to get there


paula said...

out motto is 'everything's better with bacon'. even the 4 year old says it. my only rule is that it must be free range. mmmm, bacon.

White Dove said...

I love bacon....especially smoked by my local butcher. He'll slice it as thick or as thin as the moods takes me. Cooked every which can't be beaten!

kitchen hand said...

The four-year-old here likes it too, Paula. Did I mention carbonara?

WD, some years ago I made my specialty toasted egg and bacon sandwiches with local butcher-smoked bacon cut half an inch thick for weekend guests' breakfast. They still talk about it.