Yesterday morning, I asked Phil to look in the freezer and see what we could take out for supper.
“We have bacon, back bacon and…that’s it,” he told me.
So, bacon it is!
When I got home from work, I pulled out the big baking tray and lined up all the bacon to cook at once.* The aroma filled the house and I kept opening the oven door to check for that perfect balance between limp and too crispy.
What can I say, bacon makes me impatient.
When it finally reached the exact level of crisposity I was looking for, I yanked the pan out of the oven and transferred the bacon to a paper towel to blot.
Burning my fingers, I grabbed a piece and took a bite. Enjoying that satisfying crack of the perfect crsipness, I quickly polished off my first piece and reached for another before I thought better of it.
The second piece seemed almost too crispy, and after biting down a couple of times there seemed to be a really hard chunk mingling with the salty goodness.
I carefully worked the offending nugget to the front of my mouth and spit it out.
It’s a piece of tooth!
I mean, I know I was eating crispy bacon, but this is ridiculous. It’s not like it was popcorn or something!
With a heavy heart, I put the bacon down and left the remainder for Phil while I called my dentist. I got an appointment for the next morning and stern warning to add bacon to my “not a good idea” list.
Yeah, like that’s going to happen.
With the all the advances in modern medicine, I’m sure, in no time, they’ll be able to scrape the enamel build up from my arteries and use it to fill in any chipped teeth.
It’s a win-win.
Bring on the bacon!
*In no way does this mean I intended to eat it all at once.**