I went down to visit my friend, Justin Severino, at his butcher shop. I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks, and he was sending me home with some stuff, which I told him I'd freeze until the Chinese New Year's moratorium on pork is lifted (fifteen days after the Chinese New Year, on February 33).
So I'm down there for a couple of hours, helping a little and shooting the breeze, and he pulls some bacon he'd cured himself out of the walk-in, and slaps a whole pound into the giant cast iron skillet. Like, 24 pieces of bacon.
Justin shares the kitchen with Companion Bakers, and there were three women baking, one of whom is a winemaker. She breaks open a bottle of very very good zinfandel, and Justin makes the biggest bacon-avocado sandwiches I've ever seen—for everyone in the kitchen: seven people. He puts three strips on mine and his and his wife's sandwiches, and I eat half and wrap up half for Bob.
Then Justin tells me not to ever write on my weblog again about not eating pork for the holiday, and I answered (as though I had not just eaten half of three very thick pieces of bacon) that I couldn't wait for Chinese New Year's to be over.
That's when his wife cried out, "Tana, you just ate bacon!"
Well, so I did.
I'm off the wagon now, and tomorrow hope to make lasagna with the Italian sausage with mushrooms he gave me.
All I can say is it's a good thing I'm not Chinese, or I would be in disgrace. Confession is good for the soul, and so is bacon.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: “You must have been warned against letting the golden
hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them
slip by.” —James M. Barrie
Thanks for visiting.
P.S. Go look at the last page of the March issue of Sunset magazine: Nell Newman's featured, with a good mention of the River Cafe and Cheese Shop. Yay.