Karl Klockars

I was at a small social gathering the other night.  It was a potluck dinner.  We brought a pinata, a decision which prompted an addition to the list of Karl’s Corollaries, which will be forthcoming.  There were plenty of Xmas cookies, a cake, someone brought a squash soup, there was a dish with pork n’ noodles and I think some apples as well.  Interesting, right?

But the things that got the most talk?  The dishes that recieved the bum’s rush of people to devour them?  Two things:  Bacon cookies and hotdogs wrapped with bacon.  I know that bacon is the big, hip, happening ingredient right now, but as soon as it has gone hipster-trendy, it’s time to take a step back.

Don’t get me wrong – I love bacon.  Everyone in their right mind loves bacon.  Vegetarians all will willingly say they love bacon – they just choose not to eat it.  (I do know of a couple that got wooed back by the porky goodness. )  But unfortunately, I think bacon has jumped the shark.

Please, world.  Don’t ruin bacon for me.

I somehow got on the Archie McPhee catalog list.  They’re the ones that sell the kitchy, kinda funny novelty stuff.  “Cat Lady” figurines, “Librarian” action figures, stuff like that – and they devoted the first two pages of their catalog to Everything Bacon.  Bacon lunchboxes.  Bacon bandaids.  Bacon air fresheners.  Just…bacon overload.

Why the sudden rush to a bacon LD50?  What sparked this bacon movement?  The only people who really approve of this is the cardiologist who gets to buy a small Carribbean island thanks to the heart attack spike from all this bacon-ing.

Look around.  What do you see.  A whole bunch of bacon-ing.  Two dishes at a random semi-hipster shindig where one would expect more whiskey than anything else.  (And oh, there was whiskey.)  A place with deep fried bacon with bacon gravy.  People posting to websites about bacon apple pies, and bacon burritos – where the tortilla is made out of bacon.

Search for "bacon + zombies" and this is what you get. The internet is awesome.

In Chicago, there have been bacon and egg cocktails.  I had a Bloody Mary with a strip of bacon in it in Minnesota two summers ago, which wasn’t very good.  I had country-fried bacon in Milwaukee a while ago as well, which was very good in a BLT.  Maybe those guys beat everyone else to the punch, but that helped put me over the bacon hump early, I think.  Who decided that bacon goes well with booze?  I ask people sometimes, and they respond like pig-candy zombies.  “Evvvverything goes well with baaaaaaaacon…”

I know you’ve heard it too.  You’ve probably said it.  I’ve said it.  I know I have.  “Baaaaaaaaacon goes well with evvvvvvvrythingggg…”  Because it’s pretty much true.  I made bacon last weekend in the oven with some maple syrup, fresh cracked pepper and sea salt.  It was awesome.  I can’t deny it.  But dammit, I need this bacon madness to cease.

The seeds of all this bacon backlash disgust comes from a bar in Bucktown.  It changes names every 4 months or so, and I think it was called Whiskey Road or something last time my wife was there.  Apparently, the first Monday of every month is all-you-can-eat bacon nights.  They put out bowls of bacon, up for grabs, every man for themselves.

Now, I’ve never been.  But the Better Half reports:  “I couldn’t believe it.  There were all these bowls of bacon sitting around – but no one was touching it.  It was all these kids, like early-20s, obviously hipsters.  And they were just in love with the idea of all the bacon – but no one was eating any of it.”

Great.  Ironic bacon.  Post-modern bacon.  Bacon has gone meta.  Hipster bacon.  Bastards!  I posted a status update on Facebook about bacon.  Instant response:

Dear god.  The lure of bacon slips away second by second, bit by porky little bit.

I was discussing the content of this particular screed of blithering, and the Better Half asked, “Are you going to include that toothpick girl that was screaming about how ‘bacon was her life?’”  Wait, what?  From time to time I text myself ideas to write about because I usually drink enough to forget them.

Apparently I texted myself to write about bacon after some ridiculous scrawny flapper had a mouthful of bacon+sausage had screamed that “Bacon was her life” after someone had told her that bacon was the cool thing to like this month.  She also had a damned fool piece of ribbon tied around her head like some sort of idiot Ukranian Village Pocahantas.

I mean, they do look good.

The funny thing was: everyone was talking about the person that brought the bacon cookies and the bacon-wrapped Lil’ Smokies.  But…no one finished them off.  There were still plenty left when we split about an hour later.

Again, everyone talked a good game about bacon, but no one was really willing to commit.  Not even me.  I had a couple bacon cookies (lame) and a couple bacon skewers (better, but pretty one-note).  And then, there they sat.  Everyone is in love with the idea of bacon.  But when it comes to bacon follow through…epic fail.

As I write this, I have jalapeno peppers stuffed with chorizo wrapped with bacon slow-cooking in the oven.  In between the writing of this post I left to go purchase more bacon.  This could be an example of a problem.  I might be compulsive.  But I see a light at the end of the tunnel.  Someday this fad of bacon will go away.  Then we can all move on to something like chili powder or mango salsa or leeks.  Say it with me:  What doesn’t go with leeks?  Everything goes with leeks!

I have that feeling you get when you know that a relationship is over, but it’s before the breakup.  That impending feeling of ending.  That feeling where you know there’s a painful conversation on its way, and you don’t want to say the things you’re going to say, but you have to do it because it’s only fair and right to the other person.

I’m sorry, bacon.  We’re going to have to see other people for a while.  I think we can still be good for each other – but we need to take a break.  I think I’ve lost perspective on what made us great.  I need to get that back.  We can still be friends.  But for right now…I just need some space, bacon.  I’m sorry.  It’s not you – it’s me.