Now that Baconscotch.com is a reality, it’s high time I get around to establishing a baseline post which will ground my musings in some relatable form. But how to best contribute to the justification that bacon and scotch are worthy additions to our hectic lives? Problem is, they say you should do what you love. And I don’t really love bacon or scotch. I mean, I like them. But I like clean, healthy arteries. I also enjoy drinking spirits less reminiscent of sticking my head in a chimney.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’ve got half a slab of premium, maple-kissed Raeucherspeck in my freezer seducing me everytime I go to grab the Grey Goose (lady friend likes her Greyhounds. A lot). Very tempting stuff this bacon, the way it flirts at me with its bubbling, crackling singsong in the frying pan. The promise of it’s porky goodness whispering through the air. Oh, and the taste of it. My, my.
And I will thoroughly relish the few seconds prior to a first whiskey dram. The silkiness of the pour, no splashing really, just an oh so delayed viscosity akin to pouring several ounces of diluted Pennzoil in one’s tumbler. And my favorite part – you know the one I’m talking about – the moment right before it fills your mouth. When the aromatic peppercorn, vanilla and nutmeg vapors swarm into your nostrils, a knotted lump contorts your throat and the collective upper gastro-intestinal tract braces itself for the impending 101% proof bath. Yeah, that one. Hold on.
Just had me some Black Maple Hill 15 Year Old. So good.
Back to my point. Bacon and whiskey are incredible. But so is the view from from 30,000 feet crammed into Seat 23R. Do you need it every day? Or is it more rewarding to set aside sparse moments to truly enjoy both? And even if you did, who as the time to prepare it? There is the inevitable trade-off between enjoying something too much and a debilitating bout of both cirrosis artereoschelrosis when your 37. Tough one to win.