A Bacon Sarnie for Bacon Week

bacon sandwich for bacon week
It’s bacon week. Yes, even better than my birthday, it’s bacon week.

This week I have been cooking MCs like a pound of bacon… actually, that was Vanilla Ice. I’ve been cooking bacon like a pound of bacon and also cooking bacon by the pound but as I am in Australia I shall not be able to pay for it using pounds I shall need to use dollars…

Of all the things I have done in the past to prove my love to bacon, as the pimle-y little teenager would perform “jump through the hoop” tasks to prove his love to the prom queen* (except, unlike the prom queen, bacon isn’t a bitch and gratifies my adoration with beautiful smells roaming the corridors of my home and exquisite porky tastes in my face) none could be simpler, yet as effective as what I shall be preparing for myself today.

It is a time for us all to pay homage to the humble bacon sarnie. Yes. Bread, bacon (I’ll have mine crispy please) and maybe some home made tomato sauce (ketchup) or HP. And what better way to reinforce this love then through the power of prose, for as the old song lyrics go, you say it best when you say it through prose… or was that when you say nothing at all… whatever. It’s going to be “nothing at all today” I just know it.

So simple yet so damn good... a bit like myself...
So simple yet so damn good… a bit like myself…

An Ode to Bacon

Oh bacon, oh bacon
I love thee with all of my heart I’m not fakin’
No two ways no mistakin’
You are really tasty
I’m making myself hungry
I’m going to go and cook some bacon right now

There you have it; beautiful but shit at the same time.

Bacon week is not over so maybe tomorrow morning you want to go and find yourself some nice local-as-possible you beaut bacon and make yourself a bacon sarnie in celebration of bacon week.

Amen.

*I know “prom queen” is an American term and it sounds a heap wanky coming from me, but I don’t know the Australian equivalent so prom queen it is

When you need a grease hit…

Sometimes your body tells you it just needs a grease hit. This is usually after a night where you remember having a few beers early on, getting a little tipsy by the middle and the end… well the end is nothing but a blur, but you did wake up in your car in the pub car park with your jeans pulled down around your ankles and a heap of five dollar notes jammed into your knickers.

So your body demands a grease hit.

I know the feeling.

“What do I do in such a situation?” I hear you ask. “What advice do you have for us Doctor Grazza?”

I say you must listen to your body, fulfill your body’s needs and get yourself a grease hit by following these easy steps;

  1. Quickly get your ass into the local DVD store (if they still exist, that is)
  2. Pull the 1978 classic, Grease, from the shelves
  3. Pay for it
  4. Get home as fast as your five dollar bill laden ass will carry you
  5. Whack that DVD into your DVD player and press play. Not working for you? Well now turn you TV on too. Damn, do I seriously have to spell it out for you… well, maybe if you’re reading this post I actually do. That’s fine. Today, and only today, you may call me mumma
  6. Fast forward straight to the part when they are singing “You’re the one that I want” for a magical Grease hit

…And for those of you amongst the esteemed collaboration that is the followers of this blog who may not be interested in reliving their mum’s dream of touching John Travolta inappropriately, maybe something to eat is what you need… something containing grease… ah, I get what you’re saying now. Grease for the belly, understandably different to Grease the movie, or even grease to lube up the ass for a night earning a pocket full of fivers.

Some mornings, after a night where someone had clearly informed me that the beer wells of the world were about to dry up and I had decided that I was getting my share of what was left, my brain tells me to drive into town and get a sloppy burger from Hungry Jacks and eat it in my car, in the car park. I think my brain makes me do this because it has received correspondence from my body who has asked it for some grease. I eat it in the car park purely because the crowds can fuck off today. Fast food does the job it is meant for, but I would have to say that my favourite hangover breakfast has got to be the bacon sandwich. And no, I did not forget the eggs. You can keep your effing eggs today, they just torment my belly a little more if that’s how I’m feeling. A bacon sandwich will do me fine… add HP sauce and I’m even better… but today we go all out with the bacon sandwich deluxe, or BLAPT as I like to call it (mostly because it makes it sound like a sound bubble off the old Batman and Robin TV series); Bacon, lettuce, tomato, avocado and pickled chilli. Guaranteed to sort your haggard ass out…

Hungry Jacks has been known to do the job...
Hungry Jacks has been known to do the job…
The BLAPT in all it's glory
The BLAPT in all it’s glory. I’m not sure what the hell  is up with the little photo…

The BLAPT… what you need per sandwich

2 slices good bread, grilled or toasted

2 rashers smoky bacon, cooked how you like it

3-4 slices ripe tomato

4-5 slices avocado

a few lettuce leaves

2 pickled chilli (guindillas)

QP Japanese mayo

Salt and white pepper

Put all of these ingredients together and voila, you have a BLAPT. Unless you manage to end up with the two slices of toast on the bottom, in which case you will have a very strange looking open sandwich… but still a BLAPT I guess…