Step 1. The Ingredient.
Sizzle. Crack. Pop. Bacon in a frying pan, lost somewhere between not quite ready and how burnt do you like it? Two pieces sharing one skillet, hoping for equal attention, trying to replenish the plate of already cooked food that seemingly has a specific math equation attached to it: add two hot finished slices to the plate, subtract one cooled down slice to be eaten immediately. Repeat till there is enough for everyone or the package is empty, whichever comes first unless decided otherwise based on judgment and experience of the current chef on duty.
The haziness the grease creates in the pan feels a little too familiar, but not quite fully understood. End results are always what trigger these repeated actions of making breakfast, but not since the chef was taught by his trainer how exactly to cook has he remembered how much work actually goes into the whole process. Each step is a bit hazy itself and begs the question of why he didn't pay better attention when he had the chance. And yet, he tries. Attempting to remember if the pan is nonstick or not. Realizing that bacon does not truly look appetizing till it's fully cooked. Watching the grease build up around each slice. Preparing for the pain. Wondering who would want to go through all this effort to cook in the first place.
Bacon is the one food that makes you fight in order to eat it. As the heat increases and the bacon starts to cook, grease escapes the soon to be delicious slices of heaven and spreads across the frying pan. Eventually, this grease starts to bubble then begins to pop. With each pop there's a sound so subtle and so quick that the person cooking feels as if they were part of an ambush. A sneak attack with a single purpose: punish those who eat bacon. When the grease starts to attack, there isn't much time. Your two hands are no longer safe. Your two arms are no longer protected. In shorts, your two legs are even in danger. And you better protect your two eyes. At a split second, from any direction, the cook can and will be hit with a piping hot speck or two of grease. There seems to be no learning how to avoid this, no real strategy to follow. Even if you remember to think ahead, it will find a way to surprise you. Covering one direction leaves the other side vulnerable. There are only two options anyone really has in these situations: give up and take the pain or fight back and hope for the best. Both happen today.
Step 2. The Chef.
The cook in this situation is actually no chef at all. It is a sixteen year old me. Hovering next to the stove, I stare at the bacon and wonder what I can't stand more: the random bursts of grease that fling at me or the fact that none of the pieces I cook are of the same consistency. Some are chewy; a mixture of too much fat and not enough time in the pan. These slices represent my impatience and the desire to get finished quickly. There is an agenda on my mind and I am eager to move on. Others are crunchy; a mixture of burnt sections and way too much time in the pan. These slices represent my attention that's elsewhere. My priorities are not so much the food but the real goal of this recipe. I look at the skillet and attempt to remember the tips my mom had taught me during our breakfast cooking lessons, fully intent on making her proud of what I can do on my own. But instead of remembering, I let a piece completely burn up; making it a perfect target for my dad to take in time to mask the smell of something on fire.
I try to focus my attention back on cooking, knowing that in this moment it's all about the bacon. Its smell is the only thing that can pierce through my constantly stuffed, allergy prone nose and make me question why the phrase isn't "stop and smell the bacon." When it is cooked, the smell fills the house and leaves me only minutes before the rest of the family flocks to the kitchen to grab some. I want to complain about this, but if I wasn't the one cooking, I would be the one racing down the steps, running into the room, and snatching a slice or two to eat while already having filled my plate with several more pieces.
