Canadian Bacon

I love bacon. There...I've said it. I LOVE BACON! And sausage. And ham. It's one of those personal preferences that I've learned to supress. Growing up, boy, there was nothing better than Sunday morning at Mina's house. Eggs, bacon, a little ham steak, pork roll... However, since the summer of 2001 - when my better half and I moved in together - I've tamped down my taste for breakfast meats. It wasn't a request on her part - I offered to do it out of respect for the kosher home she wanted to create, and the lifestyle she wanted to lead for ourselves and eventually our kids. After all, she was far more important to me than a Taylor ham, egg and cheese on an onion bagel with salt, pepper and ketchup (http://www.jerseyboybagels.com/).

But this past weekend, I fell off the wagon big time. I spent four glorious days in Niagara Falls (the Canadian side), with seven of "the guys." Forget that I imbibed like I was doing a New York Times review of the Complete Home Bartender's Guide (http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Complete-Home-Bartenders-Guide/Salvatore-Calabrese/e/9780806985114). Six hours in the Hard Rock sports book? Bush league! Two hours of sleep a night? Ha! Nope - where I really went off the deep end was with the pork products. I BURIED myself in "the other white meat" at every meal. I didn't set out to. In fact, it never even crossed my mind. But there I was, Saturday morning, seated around a table with my mates at a Perkins across the street from the Hard Rock, assessing my options. Veggie omelette? French toast? Silver dollar pancakes? Nope - the kid is going for the big dog - three eggs, side of bacon, side of ham, extra grease. And it went from there - jambalaya at lunch; prosciutto at dinner, etc, etc, ending with a solid sausage souffle Monday morning in Grand Island, NY before heading to the airport. I actually started to get the sweats (some suggested it was due to the gin and tonics, but I'm not buying it.)

I'm not really sure what happened - it was all such a blur. But I'm certain that as soon as I stepped in the house Monday evening with my pores oozing with pork, she knew. (My better half has an incredible inate anti-kosher olfactory sense - she can smell surf and turf on my a mile away.) If she knew, she didn't say anything, just kinda shrugged it off. She's cool like that though, and I think that for all my faults, she appreciates the effort I make to do the right thing - but at the same time, she kinda gets it that when the boys go north of the border, as a wife, you gotta give 'em a pass.