Yesterday, as dh and I were preparing for a fantastic three day freekend, he said, "Honey," he said, "Let's have a big breakfast tomorrow morning." And I, I, because I am trying to be a receptive, nurturing, enthusiastic spouse said, "HONEY," I said..."Honey, OKAY!" and accompanied it with the Eddie Murphy does Buckwheat thumbs-up and smile.
And then we set to work looking for some bacon. We wanted some REAL MEAT, y'all. Not that healthy turkey bacon that we've been chomping down with our "ooh I'll be SOOOO skinny if I eat this" grins that are as overprocessed as the fakeon itself. And there I was, busy as a little mole digging through the bacon packs and doing the window check.
Now if you are picky about your bacon, as I am, the window check is essential. Just pick up any package and you run the risk of getting a slice of fat with some meat thrown in there just for shits and giggles. Although I am American Indian and we do eat jihat, which is the ORIGINAL PORK RIND, I am a fickle meat product consumer. I want. MEAT. Just like in my caveman Japanese, it is the same in English. GIVE. ME. MEAT. I. EAT. BACON. NOW. Grunt. Grunt.
And to what to mine eyes did appear this morning? Might as well have been Santa and his 8 Tiny Reindeer, because, dear reader, all I got was this:
Can't see anything? Just white? That's RIGHT. The bacon? All FAT with one teeny little slice of meat. Like an afterthought. "And we'll daub it with brown riiiiiiiiggggghhhht....here. PERFECT! GARCON! Get me a MARTINI!" (because that is what artists drink. I know. Because I know all the artists) Those Wiley (as in E. COYOTE) meat marketers have figured out how to fan the meat JUST SO, it looks like you're getting a bunch of what you paid for. Which in my case, would be: MEAT.
Bastards. I'm finally able to bring HOME the bacon, and what do I get? A bunch of fat. How prophetic. But, if all I have to rrreeeoowwwrrr about is fatty bacon, I'm happy. You be happy too.