where would i be without bacon?

The first smell I can remember is bacon frying.

I was four years old, or at least young enough for Jem and the Holograms to still be showing re-runs on Saturday mornings. Remember that one?

I would plop myself in front of the tv, and soon enough the comforting smell of bacon would waft its way to me. At this point I would go down to the kitchen, sneak a piece from the plate it was resting on, and watch the second act, pancakes. I loved this part.

My dad specialized in K-shaped pancakes, which my sister Krissa (convenient) and I ate with endless amusement. When breakfast was ready, I would crumble most of my bacon on top of the edible letters, reserving a couple pieces to dunk straight into a bowl of maple syrup like Oreos into milk, the best sweet and savory 1-2 punch five bucks can buy, and a Saturday tradition I honor faithfully.

I think the idea of tradition is what sticks out most about those breakfasts for me. I’ve always been especially comforted by traditions, the steady sameness of them time after time. I’m not someone who is especially freaked out by change, but it’s nice to return to the things that make you happy, especially when they are delicious. Food is a powerful anchor for memories, and those breakfasts were one of the pillars of my early childhood.

So when I smell pancakes rising or bacon sizzling, I remember being four, and soon enough I’ve triggered a whole stream of memories from those years…simple material things like this one especially soft purple sweater of my mom’s, and stories that have been told a hundred times, like the day I tried to ride my Barbie Jeep to the mall. (I was apprehended at the top of the block.) In my first post I wrote that consumption is intensely personal, and this is one of the ways I meant that. Everyone has their own triggers that evoke vivid memories of certain times or places, and in some cases they go so far as to influence our preferences and habits.

For example, I sometimes lapse into periods of half assed vegetarianism for a week or two at a time, characterized by a lot of lentils, quinoa, and other "plant based proteins" that my boyfriend Jake refers to as rabbit food. I’ve often considered making a more serious commitment, but it always comes down to bacon. I just fucking love it. Sorry. Case in point, I keep a container of reserved bacon fat in my fridge, and the good people of Phillips Deli know exactly how I like my BLT. (on toasted wheat, with avocado and sprouts, should you ever need to know)

Bacon is, simply, one of my favorite foods. And I can’t help but wonder if that has to do, in some small part, with the positive associations I keep. Aside from the fact that it’s one of the world’s most perfect foods, in all its salty, chewy, crispy deliciousness, I think it’s infinitely more appealing to me thanks to memories of eating it crumbled on top of K-shaped pancakes.

PS – Evidently, pancake artistry is not a genetic trait. Mine suck.