Among the records broken by Philadelphia in this new decade, the most recent was evidenced by a snowy aftermath. 60 some inches of the precipitation that sticks hindered my adventures in the past week and left me in a whiny mood. Wednesday morning brought winter's gratuity, and I was lucky to have friends close by who ceased their day off by making a big breakfast. With Gus and I as their guests, Paulito, his girlfriend Christina, and her housemate Vince had prepared an all American breakfast of French toast, cheesy scrambled eggs, and crispy strips of of my muse.
Let's cut to the chase. I skeptically eyed the bacon, the first home fried breakfast bacon of my experience. This was likely the culprit, the notoriously delicious incarnation of pork that strategically places itself at the top of the day, bringing it the love and affection of free eaters the world over. I went for it.
The first bite said it all. Though the bacon was fried to a crisp, the fat remained slightly rubbery, resulting in a coupling of texture that was unnaturally pleasurable. However, as the bacon cooled, subsequent bites revealed diminishing charm. I wasn't too into it by the time i was crumbly through and through. Nevertheless, that first bite had given me something to chew on. I got a glimpse, albeit a brief one, of the magic in everyday, run of the mill bacon.
as im sure you already know, or maybe not, bacon can be cooked to a person's preference. growing up my mom cooked bacon till it was way too overdone for my taste. the slighty burnt taste and over-crispy texture was no good for me and i grew up not really liking bacon till i started frying it myself. then i realized, like steak, i like my bacon on the medium rare side. cooked, brown, but mostly chewy with only a little crunch to it. its a whole different ballgame.
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