Sky Full of Bacon

I am so hip

…because I beat the cultural ubiquity of bacon by one week, apparently.

Actually, as someone who’s been curing his own bacon for a couple of years now, I find Salon’s Bacon and the City approach to bacon:

To love bacon is to sink your teeth into life, to refuse to nibble at the side salad or sip on the seltzer with a twist of lime. “Nobody wants to be wholesome, boring Betty when they could be sexy, hot-to-trot Veronica,” Sarah Katherine Lewis says. “Pour me a drink, light me a smoke, fry me up a pan of bacon, and let’s get it on.”

both encouraging and dismaying. In one sense it’s the usual trivial self-absorption of the chattering classes, “discovering” something that has been part of American life all along; discovering bacon is like discovering oxygen or money. And so they can’t just say “Dad was right, damn, bacon’s tasty!” but they have to turn it into something transgressive and tattooable.

But of course every sinner eventually reforms. The people getting naughty with bacon today will be humorless scolds about it again tomorrow. I stand for bacon as a relatively morality-free thing; we are carnivores, bacon is a delicious meat, I wouldn’t try to live on it but really, a few slices once a week will not kill you and they won’t make you a 21st century meat version of Hef, either.

It’s just bacon. Don’t blow it out of proportion. What the media giveth, the media will taketh away tomorrow.

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