I didn't officially join — I'm not a joiner! — but I played along with all the bloggers who took an oath to write a "quality" post every day for the month of November. I might have squiggled out of my vow of "quality" a few times, but I did hit the "publish" button 30 times, so I made it.
So now am I hooked on daily posting?
No, I'm hooked on telling you about the bacon I nibbled on yesterday.
I'm not a bacon expert, and I don't play one on TV either. I'll just tell you that I had the opportunity to taste, side by side, two very nice, local, artisan bacons.
One was made by Black Sheep Farm in Occidental (no web site) and the other was from The Fatted Calf.
The Black Sheep bacon had a great up-front flavor profile: all the right sweet, salty and smoky notes. Fine.
The Fatted Calf: On. The. Other. Hand.
I did not go into this tasting intending to prefer my homies. In fact, last time Cranky cooked up some Fatted Calf bacon, he burned it a little, and I found it salty. (I was told that too-fast heat was the culprit by my bacon expert, who plays a bacon expert on his blog, Dr. Biggles of Meathenge.)
Anyway, this time Cranky eased up on the wattage, and the results were visually pleasing.
And in the mouth? This was a wonder: The flavors kept developing. They went from salt to smoke to rose-flavored meat, to sweet, to wine, to magic. It was psychedelic. It just kept coming.
I tasted — no, I experienced — my way though the bacon.
It was otherworldly.
And then I sprinkled the bacon — both types, crumbled up — on a very worldly baked potato.
A girl's gotta eat.