A letter of overexposure

Dear Bacon,

On a conceptual and gastronomic level, I have no problem with bacon chocolate bars, egg and bacon ice cream, or bacon caramel. The bacon chocolate-chip cookie at Meatopia IV was pretty good too. (I do, however, draw the line at the Bacon Martini. That just doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.)

And you know you occupy a hallowed place in my kitchen, Bacon — you really do. I even keep the stuff that reminds me of you — there’s a jar of bacon drippings I leave right by the stove. There’s no one like you for cooking up greens. I’m even going to start curing a slab of you next week.

But I worry, Bacon.

I worry that you’re becoming too ubiquitous. That you’re trying too hard. That instead of being the life of the party, you’re becoming the joke: a little too eager to get shitfaced, jump on the table and dance. You’re That Meat that’s the last to leave, after the hosts have been hinting for an hour.

Your appearance in the lardons made for a good laugh — especially since they only tasted okay — but is that what you’re going for now? Laughs? You just want to make a spectacle of yourself? That makes me sad.

Why don’t we take it down a notch, Bacon? Just relax and be yourself. Everyone likes you already; there’s no one you need to impress, no need to get all dolled up and pretend you’re something you’re not.

Keep it real, Bacon, and you’ll always have a place on my plate.

Yours, even in lean times,
Winnie

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2 Responses to “A letter of overexposure”


  1. 1 joyce July 14, 2008 at 3:24 am

    Dear Winnie,

    No one tells the Bacon to Bacoff.

    Sure, being discovered and becoming the it-ssential ingredient changed everything.

    Suddenly everyone wants me in their projects, wants to be my new best friend, heck—wants to BE me. The porkerazzi track my every move, catching my most embarrassing moments, the ONE time I was just too much and the ONE time I forgot that I wasn’t wearing any… whatever.

    But I understand what my role is. I am the Muse that must amuse, the gastronomical gift that keeps on giving. I will spend until I am spent. As my true BFF Tommy S. Eliot said, “Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.” And I’ll keep going. For art. For you. For the people.

    How can I keep it real when I fulfill the fantasy of the masses? I belong to the masses. I am of the masses. I am massive.

    Coming soon to everywhere near you,
    The Bacon.


  1. 1 Bacon, the life of my party « Fat is flavor Trackback on September 25, 2008 at 12:02 pm

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