I'm not going to lie to you, not today. No, sorry — not now, not on this blog. I don't care what you came here for, I'm not going to do it. Today is truth day down at the old Onstad thing-mentioning area, and I have a juicy tidbit to get off my chest. Well, it's not really one single tidbit. It's twelve tidbits, made up of several smaller, cured, often smoked, tidbits.
If you hadn't guessed by now, I'll just come out and say it: for Valentine's Day, my wife signed me up for the Bacon of the Month club. Every second week of the month, I am promised a thermodynamically stable little cooler full of American artisanal bacon, on the doorstep, to do with as I please.
For the sake of sport and discussion, and to pad this out in the absence of my maiden shipment, I will first point out that our earlier efforts at ordering fancy delivered food did not fare well.
ATTEMPT ONE: "THE BOX," A CRATE OF ORGANIC FOODS DELIVERED WEEKLY
Two young professionals who do not like to eat ten pounds of kale.
ME: [from porch] WHAT DO YOU DO I MEAN DO YOU MAKE A SLICKER OR A TARP OUT OF THIS STUFF
LIZ: DID "THE BOX" JUST SHOW UP?
ME: THERE IS ALL THIS KALE BUT THERE IS ALSO A WEIRD MELON, AND A BEETLE IS ON TOP OF THE MELON LIKE HE IS THE OWNER OF IT
LIZ: PUT IT IN THE YARD BY THE BRICK PILE
ME: THE MELON?
LIZ: ALL OF IT
ME: WE HAVE THAT HICK NEIGHBOR MAYBE HE CAN SHOOT IT
LIZ: SHOOT WHAT?
ME: MY RECURRING PAYMENT OF $36.50
ATTEMPT TWO: AN UNFORTUNATE DELIVERY
Too lazy to cook, and there is a little money in my pocket.
ME: Say, it's Saturday! Let's spare ourselves a few dishes and get some upscale take-out! That new Fist of Mandalay place says they deliver.
LIZ: I'd love some papaya salad and spring rolls.
ME: It's done. It's as good as done. For me I will get prawn dishes.
[two hours pass]
ME: [intensely serious] I...I hope you...I just hope you don't mind. [gingerly rises from couch]
ME: Just don't do anything like listen or care or try to help for a while, alright?
LIZ: Are you feeling okay?
ME: Shut UP!
ME: [runs bathroom shower as noise baffle for half an hour]
- - - -
As this is bacon, and not pestilential crates of unpopular greens, or shrimp that have been ripening under the nervous eye of a cash-strapped restaurateur, I see no reason the whole thing shouldn't be great fun from beginning to end. We'll have people over more often. Our soups will have a deeper, more earthy flavor. Large Sunday breakfasts will become a thing of tradition. We'll go on a hike, or perhaps look at pictures of the sea.
Now—here is my actual announcement—since I've got this monthly bacon gig, I thought I'd make a little recurring blog feature out of it. From the plop of the package, to the evaluation, to the recipe research and ensuing guest response, I intend to document what can only be described as one man's monthly subscription to a cured pork delivery service. I hope you will follow it with great enthusiasm, and perhaps, when it comes out, go see the film.