August 20th is a subtle food holiday. Whereas most of the time we’re celebrating a particular thing we love to eat, this day honors those who do the eating. And while we’re certainly all about lifting people up, it just doesn’t seem right to give bacon lovers, of all people, their own holiday. After all, they revel in the joy of eating every time they sit down to their favorite treat – an official recognition smacks of indulgence or perhaps a little insider trading. Bacon enthusiasts are very well placed – even, we’re told, among the illuminati.
Perhaps it’s too much to assume that there’s a secret society at work – after all, there is no arcane knowledge about the food. It announces its presence boldly with rampant assaults on the olfactory bulb that travel to the brain like wild fire to enflame craving and ignite desire. As far as I can tell, babies with candy are safe, but little ones with bacon are sure to be without it soon.
Of course, this part of the world is particularly subject to bacon love owing to our proximity to the center of the known bacon universe. Our charming neighbor to the south, Madisonville, may seem like a quiet place, but it’s a hotbed of bacon agitation and the home of many, very smoky revels. Benton’s Bacon is one of the most odiferous examples of this already odiferous edible, and it acts on the average person’s nose in much the same way that the sirens’ call ensnared sailors of ancient seas.
If you consider the subject carefully, bacon love is really more cult-like than anything as it lures even the strongest of hearts into its web of longing; there’s a good chance that Meatless Monday has been thwarted more by bacon than anything else. Still, some of our favorite people are ensnared by this compelling food obsession – even folks we call family – so we tolerate this obsession and do our darnedest to love them the best we can.
Given the nature of this love that not only dares to speak its name but proclaims it loudly, one wonders if the purpose of the holiday isn’t so to acclaim the bacon lover but, instead, to call attention to their plight.
Regardless, as far as we can tell there’s no cure for this food affliction until the afflicted themselves have had enough. And until that day, we do our best to treat them well and make sure that the bacon they get is at least of good quality, acquired legally, and not taken out of the mouths of babes.
As for Tomato Head, admittedly we’re enablers. Really big enablers. We serve Benton’s Bacon as an a la carte brunch option, a topping for salad and pizza, and as an essential part of the “OH!” in our Oh Boy sandwich. All bacon has excellent crunch potential, but Benton’s takes that texture an extra step and becomes both crunchy and softly yielding in the same bite.
Allan Benton in the Smokehouse (image by smokeymountaineer)
And then there’s the fact that Mr. Benton delivers a smoking that permeates not just the bacon but the entire dish – sometimes the whole room – suffusing it with flavor and memories, too. Just the smell of this bacon ignites bonfires of glory days long past, fireplaces filled with crackling flames and romance, and campfires redolent with comfort, bonding and adventure. Even its appearance recalls the memory-laden, failing autumn light, a dusk horizon streaked with shades of umber, ochre and Sienna. But edible. Really edible.
While naturally, WE do not suffer from bacon obsession, we understand and sympathize with those who do. Thus we raise rashers to those who love the bacon on this their special day. And though it’s easy to malign the bacon-addled, today we encourage you to show love and tolerance and to embrace them even if their hands are greasy and their breath, smoky.