Bacon. Is there another word that conjures up the same foodie memories?
Did I ever tell you about the time I was smitten by smoked and cured goodness?
My wife M, our first baby and I were living in a Quebec farmhouse down a quiet little valley. We were sharing the rambling old house with another young couple and their first baby boy, but due to their unhappy circumstances we rarely saw much of them. They pretty much stayed away and only he (Steve) would drop in for changes of clothes or to tinker with his car. We were all young and hippyish. M and I had joined a food Co-op to meet new people, save on our meagre $$ and explore a vegetarian lifestyle. Our monthly meetings with the other members in our region were fun. We'd watch NFB films (
https://www.nfb.ca), share stories and divide bulk food orders. I was sprouting mung beans and making lentil soup. Good stuff. Aside from the need to keep the bedroom window cracked open, even on -40C January nights, everything was going great, or so I thought. Until Steve dropped in late one evening.
A swirling winter gale pushed him in through the summer kitchen, and into our warm cozy home. A fresh batch of whole wheat bread was baking in the oven and I had a bowl of beans soaking under a tea towel on the countertop. Steve announced "Um. I have a box of something we should take a look at. It's in the trunk of my car. I'll be right back." Moments later we were staring at a large oblong cardboard box on the kitchen table. It was quite heavy, and had no label or markings to suggest what was inside. Steve explained he'd been driving along a backroad following a delivery truck, when the truck hit a bump, the back door slid open and a box fell out onto the road.
It fell off a truck. You have to remember that I was young and gullible. But I was also intrigued. What could be in it? Steve, M and I held our breathe and opened the box. Even though frozen solid, the contents released an intoxicating aroma of pure maple cured heaven.
CRASH went Brad as he fell off the groovy hippy vegetarian wagon, and
TOK made the sound of his hollow head as he hit the flagstone floor of reality. I fell, and fell hard, but only in the figurative sense. The reality was that I'm a happy carnivore; I eat what I love, and love what I eat. We three stood still, while greedy grins crept across our faces. Steve had been trying a vegetarian lifestyle like myself, but we both swore off that bowel scouring farting lifestyle, at least until this box was eaten. M was never convinced of a non-meat diet. I was convinced she'd always had a secret cache of pork chops and stewing beef hidden in that kitchen somewhere, and keeping it all to herself. Whatever.
There was one problem though. How do we selectively thaw pieces from this huge frozen collection? After an hour of desperate work we managed to free a slab of bacon and a big rack of ribs. I broke three hacksaw blades trying to surgically separate the ribs. My axe was futile against the concrete bacon. "
Oh FFS, we're gonna hafta eat the whole thang." M had the oven warmed and the cast iron frying pan ready to go. She was way ahead of us.
I don't remember how long that mystery box lasted us that winter, but I don't think I ever had a bowl of beans soaking on the counter after that night. We tried to pace ourselves, and to make the lost meat order last, but all good things come to an end...eventually. Steve and his family drifted off and out of our lives. As for my own young family, we eventually bid adieu to our lovely old farmhouse, and moved on to other adventures...our happy family adventures continue. As for bacon being a part of our lives...From time to time I find myself driving behind a butcher delivery truck. I always slow down, keeping a safe and respectable distance...and wait for a bump in the road.