bacon bacon bacon bacon bacon.
I like pork chops (insert "and applesauce here _______________"). Not quite fond of pork rinds. And really not to sure about pigs feet. 1) How do you cook them# 2) I'm not that big into feet anyway. Although I have been known to kiss a toe or two. But pig toes, do you know where they've been!?! And doing research, they even make pickled pigs feet. Shady.
Get this: pigs feet are a soul food dish. Southern cookin' at its finest, I assume. I dig soul music. Even more so I dig funk music. If you haven't had the chance, please please please download these two albums: Funkadelic^, America Eats It Young (the lyrics are just awesome and super timely) and Funkadelic, Funkadelic...oh, and Funkadelic, Maggot Brain. "Mommy, What's a Funkadelic?" Give these a listen and you we be all dirty from that crazy psychedelic, rock, soul and funk. Dirty like a pig in slop.
All in all, a big thumbs up to the other white meat. In fact, I may just start a Facebook page to over take that "original" white meat. What is that? Chicken? Stupid chicken. Those cows from the Chick-fil-A have it right. And you know why chicken's stupid, 'cause we don't serve it here at Capogiro. (nice tie in, right? insert applause here _____________)
We have Lancaster double smoked bacon. You heard me right. Double. Smoked. Kinda like me in college (insert laughter here ____________). Oh, but it's, oh so delicious. Thick cuts of tasty pig meat, barely a trace of fat and smokey. Now, you can get a BLT at every Capogiro, but if you swing out by our Penn store for breakfast, we'll serve you that savory, delicious bacon on either an H&H bagel or an Au Forneil croissant complimented with fontina cheese and hard-boiled egg. (another timely plug. insert golf clap here _____________).
Pig. Bacon. And etc.
So when I got married some 13 years ago (insert sad trombone sound here __________^^) it was in North Carolina (Who's House? Heel's House!). And for our most awesome reception we had some really tasty craft brewed beer and a pig pickin'. One half of a pig torn to shreds and thrown on your styrofoam plate by guys with not all of their teeth and industrial strength gloves. Served with coleslaw. Dang, classy.
Couple of years ago, my mother got me an electric griddle for Christmas. I said, "Mom, why do I need an electric griddle?" Mom says, "Because. It's what I got you for Christmas." Guess what that electric griddle's good for?* Pancakes, sure, but not in my "house". French toast? Pu-lease. Yep. You know what's up. Bacon. I can fit almost a whole package of bacon on the griddle.
ETC. Hmmm. Just thought it would look good for the next segment. But I got nothin'.
So there you go. Bacon. Awesome. Good show.
*Electric griddles cook bacon much better than a cast iron skillet with raised slots in the pan to collect grease. Because here's what happens when you don't empty the skillet of grease. It gets really hot. Then start to smoke. Especially when a LOT of it has collected. No matter how strong the overhead vent is, this smoke will then filter it's way through out the first floor of your "house" and start to tease the smoke detectors. Smoke detectors like to detect smoke of all forms and then will alert you to the fact that smoke is accumulating. Loudly. Making daughter cry. Then you realize, "Crap! I just bought this "house" and the smoke detectors are hard-wired into the electrical system!" And pushing buttons on the said detector does no good, so you run down stairs to the fuse box which ISN'T labled (stupid previous owner) and you just cut the power to the whole house.
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