I Don't Approve of Bacon

So, In the spirit of blogs about food, I thought I would take some time to tell you about my feelings about bacon.

Today, at brunch, the dining hall was serving quiche Lorraine. Now, normally I like quiche because it's basically cheese and egg pie, but I don't like quiche Lorraine because quiche Lorraine has bacon in it. Ew. I have a long, convoluted history with bacon, which all started when I was about four years old and I saw the movie Babe. For those of you who have never seen Babe, it is a movie about an Australian pig who wants to be a sheep dog. Innocent and sweet, right? Wrong; Babe's mother was made into bacon. It was the single most upsetting film I have ever seen, well, except for Dumbo - that was disturbing.

I tried bacon for the first time a year later when I was on vacation with my family in Canada. I remember it distinctly, we were sitting in a restaurant next to the window, my mom ordered breakfast for me and the waiter brought me a plate of bacon and eggs. Naively, I took a bite; I didn't like the flavor, it was too salty and tough. I asked my mom what it was; she said 'bacon'. And then I realized that I was eating Babe's mother. I don't think I ever quite got over that, and, to this day, I am unable to eat bacon (well unless it's in quiche and I don't notice it's there until it's too late).

Let me make a prediction, right now, you're probably thinking 'wow, she's really weird. Who cares that much about a movie?'. So, let me clear up the confusion; Babe is not the only reason I don't like bacon. The truth is, pig products just taste weird to me. It's not just bacon, I don't eat ham or pork either. Plus, I think people tend to overcook bacon. Let me tell you a little story about something that happened to me in my high school cooking class.

One of my kitchen-group-partners, let's call him Bean, was cooking bacon for one of our recipes. He made a big fuss about knowing how to make bacon, even though he hardly ever cooked in our class, so we let him do it by himself. About twenty minutes later, Bean turned to me and my friend (who was also in our kitchen group) and was like "do you think it's done?" and we were like "Bean, we think it's burnt." So, long story short, we had to throw the bacon away and start over.

So, there you go, unnecessary bacon was cooked and unnecessary pigs were slaughtered. Somewhere in Australia, Babe is crying. Only, not really, because pigs don't have tear ducts. I bet he's crying on the inside. Just sayin'.