Heaven on Earth
The strike of a match and the turning of a knob begins the intense temptation. Ten inches in diameter of Teflon coated iron are bombarded with flickering flames. Thirty seconds later, slimy strips of sliced heart attacks are neatly placed into almost artistically arranged rows. Instantaneously, the heat is transferred from burner to pan to fat. The unavoidable and piercing sizzle that is bursting sounds of fat molecules combusting seduces all five of my senses. As the strips shrivel and curl into crunchy, heavenly delights, the smell floats in the air forming finger-like wisps of a distinct, irresistible scent that creeps into my nostrils. A deep sigh of relief escapes as I inhale the buttery smell of cholesterol and exhale an insane want for the richness in my mouth. Nearly eleven months ago I heard the dreadful words, “You can’t do it.” Naturally, Chuck Norris took a hold of my being and for some unknown reason I replied, “Challenge accepted.” For eleven months I have been a vegetarian living among a tribe of meat eating monsters. Throughout this span of time I have had several moments of weakness, like Thanksgiving where I stared down a sixteen pound bird that glistened and oozed as it was carved and then looked down at my plate to see a dry looking pile of greens. I will proudly say that I have never fell into these temptations but I have struggled, especially when it came to bacon. If somewhere, somehow, bacon became liquefied into some sort of drink, or formed into an aroma releasing candle, perhaps life would be complete. In a sandwich, wrapped around hors d’oeuvres, or on a bare and naked plate, the beauty which is cured pork belly has become more than just a food, it has become a comfort and an indulgence. I cringe at the sight of bacon being devoured and swallowed without being fully chewed. Furiously, I ask how someone can eat so quickly, surely they are not savoring the smell, taste, texture, sight, and sound of bacon. Pick up the twisting and winding piece of meat and look at it, admire it’s ability to cook in its own rendering of fat. Smell it, ask yourself what else can smell as inviting and inducing as the smell of bacon. Most importantly, taste it, don’t eat it, taste it. Indulge yourself in the naturally greasy and artery blocking heaven-sent food. While my eyes glaze over and my mouth begins salivating, I disown my instinct to scoff and satisfy my jumping taste buds. Rather I shut my eyes tightly and attempt the impossible task of blocking the smell of bacon from entering my airways. The frying of bacon is not just the bursting of fat, rather the sound of applause, or an angelic praise, perhaps nature or God’s way to highlight that yes, bacon is, and always will be, the closest thing to heaven on earth.
