>There’s a certain feel for cooking bacon. I would imagine that it could be seen as a metaphor for life in general. I think where you find yourself in life could be reflected in your ability to cook bacon. All those decisions that got you to where you are today rendered down to a spattering of grease, a danger of burning the house down, followed by the pleasure that only the pig can bring us as we sit down to a heaping pile of cripy, but not burned, bacon. All of a sudden I have a craving for IHOP. After all, I’ll let someone else cook mine from time to time.
>My mother always cooked bacon until there was nothing left but little strips that could pass for fried worms. Then, after supposedly cooking away all that fat, she would continue to use the bacon grease to cook each remaining course of our breakfast. Yum.
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