One thing this blog has been good for is keeping tabs on my everchanging obsessions. It's chronicled my late-in-life discovery of peanut butter (extra crunchy, if you please), borne witness to a hundred carnitas tacos if it was one, and made my mother's crazy, uncontrollable lust for chocolate seem as nonchalant as a greaser lighting up another smoke. It's kept up as I swooned over Manresa once...twice...thrice; ate jumbo pieces of cinnamon toast for days on end; made a big batch of cookies and ate an obscene amount all by my lonesome. And this is just within the past year.
But before you call me fickle, I'll have you know that each new desperate love affair does not take the place of an old one -- it just joins the party. I guess I'm more of an adulterer, as it were. Or a polygamist. Ahem.
What's the latest everyday foodstuff to assault my plate? you ask. The humble BLT. I had some Niman Ranch applewood smoked bacon leftover from my weekend dinner party and had just been told by Mr. Food Musings that he wouldn't be home from work in time for Sunday lunch. (Yes, working on Sunday. Advertising is an ugly little world.)
So what did I do? Did I pout and stomp my feet and cry? No. (Well, maybe I pouted a bit.) But then I got my game face back on and slapped together a BLT as my reward. Whole wheat bread? Check. Tomatoes? Check, and ripe ones, too. Mayo? Got it. Lettuce? Hmm...spinach will have to do.
Since that first bite of crisp, crunchy bacon, sweet tomatoes, properly toasted, er, toast, and all those yummy salty flavors mingling in my mouth, I've eaten one pretty much every day, not including the Thanksgiving holiday. The bad news is that the bacon is officially all gone (and none of my pants will button up all the way, but that's why God invented safety pins!) The good news? There's more bacon where that came from.