Baconalia! Review: Canadian Bacon with Labatt Blue (tallboy can)

 

All told, Baconalia! was amazing and I have no regrets.  I did, however, have one dud.  Before any rogue vegans start to jeer or bacophiles start to sob, I must make a confession: I did not try to make this one good. Sometimes I’m a bit of an ass…this was one of those times. 

Bacon is not my only love.  My heart also pitter-pats for ice hockey.  When I was a kid last summer, we’d spend those summer vacations much like we spent our dark winters: playing hockey.  That’s just how it is in both my current residence (Desolate Tundra) and childhood home (Forsaken Tundra).  I’ve always felt closer to our Neighbors to the North than my fellow Americans below the Mason-Dixon Line.  I just can’t relate to people who lack strong opinions on (snow)plow infrastructure.  Anyway, given this apparently one-sided kinship I extended to America’s Hat, the gold medal hockey games felt a bit like someone took a freshly-sharpened skate blade and slashed me across my heart.  Team Canada cut me deeply – twice – and I am still a bit bitter.

Re-Mom-bering.

Today is the twelfth anniversary of my mother’s death.  I think of her and miss her daily, as I have for tens of thousands of days and will for tens of thousands of days more.  It isn’t ritualistic for me and it is seldom with sadness, she’s just always going to be a part of me – just as she was in my creation and my development.  Her influence did not end when her life did.  I am very much her daughter, a resemblance of which I am proud.

My mother was a fantastic woman in every way.  Logically I sometimes wonder if I have idealized her, but realistically, I know that she actually was that amazing.  Even more amazing was the relationship my mother and I shared.  At a time when many of my peers were being all angsty with their moms, my mom and I hung out together.  I’m not sure if it is harder to be a teenage girl or the mother of a teenage girl; in my family, it wasn’t particularly hard to be either.  We didn’t scream at or fight with each other; we found it much more enjoyable to watch bad 90s television or establish a ranking system to evaluate all of the soft-serve ice cream places within a three-town radius.  (We both liked Hardees a lot.)  

By the time I was in my teens, my mom and I had a relationship that few of my friends have managed to replicate, despite the additional decade plus of time they’ve had to practice.  I have never doubted my mother’s love for and confidence in me, nor have I ever doubted her knowledge of my love and respect for her.  I still have that and always will, no matter how many days or years pass since she did.  It does sometimes sadden me when I think of all I’ve missed having with her and will continue to miss her at certain milestones in my life.  However, I find great comfort in the relationship we had and it’s preserved in my memory forever.

FGT.

Monday already? That sure came fast. It seems a mere seven days ago…

1.) My team won trivia again last week. We’re pretty awesome. Did you know the Chinese invented ice cream, like three thousand years ago? Yeah, way back in the BC/BCE. I did not know that, but luckily one of my teammates did.

2.) I have (at least) three swimsuits that fit and I am comfortable wearing. Now if only I didn’t live in the tundra…Oh, but wait! I am taking a vacation from El Tundra.

3.) I washed my heavy winter coat and put it in storage. In case of emergency, I did not yet take my wool coats (yes, plural – not a typo) to the cleaners, but that is more due to cheap than weather concerns. .

4.) Busy season at work is almost over! I am tempted to say “I get my life back!” but I am too honest for that.

5.) I am in bed, ready for lights out, and it is not even double-digit hours. Amazing.

Session Ales

It’s true: I am old.  During a recent beer run, I noticed a new offering from one of my favorite breweries.  It was clearly labeled “session ale.”  For those of you not in the know, this is medium secret code for “low ABV” – it’s totally a historical/social reference basically meaning you could slam a lot of them during a “session” and then go back to work.*  Wine and old fashioneds are not the only adult beverages with the ability to be classy.  Anyway!  When I saw “session ale” I did not think “waste,” but rather I thought “Ooh!  For worknights!” 

And then I bought some.  4.2% ABV and it’s delicious.  In fairness, it’s pretty great for someone like myself who is rather on the petite side.  I never really understood that attraction of O’Douls and the like (probably because they taste like ass) but a solid session ale?  Hook me up.  And then hook me up again.  And maybe again…

*Unless your job is, oh, nannying.

Baconalia!

It's not a party until the glue guns come out.

A couple of weeks ago, I held a bacon and beer party – Baconalia!, if you would.  It was amazing.  I’m not sure if anyone else had as much fun as I did, but it was by far my favorite party that I have ever thrown.  The only one that comes close was a joint-bachelorette party for some college friends.  The main bonus of Baconalia! over that one was that since this was my party, it was void of invitations of obligation – meaning I liked everyone in attendance.  Man, oh man, it sure was great.  The rumor is that it’s “too soon” for me to hold another, but I sure am already planning it; there’s going to be a piggyata!* 

I feel like I need to insert a caveat here that bacon is neither the most flexible nor the ultimate party food, and works best at a smaller gathering.  Twelve to twenty guests would be ideal; over twenty-five would probably be too many.  (One could have multiple parties though – that’s my plan.)  Additionally, guests should arrive around the same time, as this is food/beverage with a party, versus the inverse.  We started with a little pre-mingle (with beverages) while I finished things up and people arrived.  Cooking the bacon is very hands-on (and I used oven, stove, and microwave) and well, takes forever – with the additional challenge that some things really need to be kept warm.  It’s also a party that sort of kills the budget pretty quickly.  Eh, I’ve been working a lot of overtime lately and this seemed like a good usage of those dollars.  I told people not to bring anything, although some people ignored me.  I am going to go with that for  Baconalia!2! and ask guests to bring supplemental beer that we like to drink.  (Some beers really need the bacon to be good.)

Observation.

Most people who critique the fashion sense (or lack thereof) of others, do not have a (three-inch heeled, faux-snake-skin boot clad) foot to stand on.  The above is an actual example from tonight, courtesy of an overly loud cell phone talker.  She sure pranced around while wearing her glitter galore.  Her complaint regarded some guy with a fashion sense that is apparently stuck in the 80s…might be an improvement on hers.

Before any pot-kettle accusations: I am aware that I have no fashion sense and I am comfortable with this.  My standards are pretty low: clean, fits well enough, everything “important” covered.  (Here in the desolate tundra, for six months of the year, “important” includes every inch of my skin.)

About Bacon, Not Health Care

On the left: chocolate-dipped bacon

I feel like I should write about Sunday’s health care vote.  Not only that I should write about it, but also that I should want to write about it…but I don’t.  I don’t want to, and at least for today, I am not going to.  So there.  Sometimes I do not like to conform to expected or established norms.

There are norms of which I am a HUGE supporter: wearing deodorant, brushing one’s teeth, showering – really any aspect of personal hygiene and grooming wins my vote.  I am also an advocate of certain social graces, such as being kind, taking turns, and generally not being an idiot.  Thinking of others ranks pretty high in my list as well, along with respect for shared spaces.  I am totally That Girl who forgets herself on public transit and in parks and chases down litterbugs with the old, “Oh!  I think you dropped something!  I wanted to let you know in case it’s important.”  In actuality, I’m just being a (slightly) passive-aggressive biddy.  I sure know what empty candy wrappers look like and few people hold strong attachments to them.  Something I learned along the way with this habit is that if the guilty party is visibly mentally unstable, angry, or under the influence of an illegal/controlled substance; I should probably just leave them alone.  Really though: Throw your trash away, unless it’s recyclable, and if that’s the case – recycle it.  This is not difficult.  I have lived in places without recycling pick-up, and while it sucks and feels wrong to drive recycling around, it still is not that hard.  Applying eyeliner is much harder.

When I’m not picking up my own trash or sorting my recycling, I am sometimes resisting social mass movements – usually of the wired sort.  I hate emoticons and refuse to use them. Every once in awhile one will sneak out from my fingers, but it’s been months and I always feel a little dirty whenever one slips onto my screen.  I don’t twit or tweet or twootle – and I won’t. When Obama was elected or MJ died, my facebook status made no allusion to the headline of the day.  I’m not making a statement.  It’s more probable that I have already spent a fair amount of time talking and reading about things before I get a chance to write about them.  Lack of a manifesto is not lack of interest or awareness. 

Ergo, today I am going to present the steps I follow when making chocolate-covered bacon.  There are no measurements, because I do not measure anything.