Bacon Wars

Bacon is a funny thing. It always starts off seeming like a good, nay, great idea. The sizzle sounds, the smell, the partly-crunchy-partly-soft deliciousness that goes so well with maple syrup...yea. It always starts off so well...

But...the aftermath, the "baconmath" is so foul...I hate it. In fact, I hate it so much I won't ever cook it...Oh I'll eat it. But only if someone else has offered to do the cleaning up.

Why?

First there is the pool of grease, a horrible reminder of how I am destroying my health, and looking at it I can just feel little chucks of partially congealed bacon fat clumping around in my arteries... Looking at it is bad enough, but then you need to dispose of it... Can't put that stuff down the sink, oh no! (this was all new to my husband...I nearly had a heart attack when I saw him pouring the grease down the sink...NO. NO NO NO...here's why)

There are many solutions for grease disposal alternatives, like candles, soap, bird feed, cookies, or even vodka flavouring. But no. Because, well... BECAUSE IT'S GROSS.

But why my hatred of cooking bacon? It can't just be the grease, right? There must be another reason, right? YES. There is.

THE SMELL.

You may have noticed I have issues with smells. I'm like a hipster-chic Francine Fishpaw... But back to the point... Bacon leaves this smell in the air. This greasy, pork-y, oppressive smell that permeates the whole house. It gets in your hair, your clothes, your furniture... You can cook bacon in the morning, go out all day, and come home to a house that smells like a pig just threw itself into the oven in a fit of sadistic suicide. Some people may love this...but I do not.

Imagine this...in your lungs. *shudder*

So where does the bacon war come in? WELL... we live in a 2nd floor apartment. In the past, our downstairs neighbours were happy little vegans, whose most offensive cooking odour was organic onions frying in soy butter. Now normal people meat eaters have moved in downstairs, and every weekend, without fail, bacon-smell comes pouring up through the air vents. It is a gastronomic assault that doesn't let up for hours. 

I do take a small amount of satisfaction in knowing that sometimes we beat them to the punch, and that it is them who must inhale our dead pig scent.

Things could be worse. I gather that. This ranks right up near the top of the "first world problems" list...but shut up.

This is a problem I can deal with. It's annoying, but livable...and at least I don't get guilt-tripped by downstairs vegans who grow organic vegetables indoors all winter for the homeless. Yea. That actually happened.

Oh well, all things considered I'll deal with pig stink because: