Old School

We blog a lot about bacon. (As Max would say, we have "iss-eeews". Yes, we taught him to say "issues". Yes, it is cuter than you can comprehend.)

One of the main reasons - other than the glory of bacon itself - is that good ol' smoked n' cured pork belly is pretty much the only animal protein that Max will eat. The best part of his bacon eating - again, other than the bacon - is the dope, old school meat market we shop at for all our meat needs (except for the fourteen-inch thick Costco steaks every family needs.)

Max and I make regular trips to Everett's, not too far from our house. It's got everything: guys in white jackets and paper hats writing on butcher paper-wrapped gifts of meaty goodness. I finally realized, at Everett's, what it's like for Katie to go shoe shopping: you walk in, look at the case filled with porterhouses, strips, t-bones, sirloins, tenderloins, chops, sausages and, of course, bacon; and god help you if you don't just want one of everything. I mean, really, really want one of everything. Much to my chagrin, shoes don't go bad if you don't freeze them after a day or two, so one person in this house has to control himself.

I'm guessing that Max's appreciation of bacon comes from his earliest stages of development, when, as a wee zygote, Katie would take him through the chow line at Penland on BLT day. Too bad Penland didn't have fish stick day or soy chunk day or something like that.