This is a tale that begins with another B word, a British Boy who liked my boobs. His name is Stu.
I liked this Stu guy so I stuffed him in my suitcase and dragged him back across the ocean with me to my home in the US. While we chose to settle here, all of his friends and family are still in England so that means that from time to time, visits are required.
There are many things that I love about England. Believe it or not, it’s not just a country of husband potential. There are slugs there too, really, really cool slimy slugs that crawl everywhere! Every evening I made Stu go for walks so that we could look at the slugs, get some fresh air, and explore. And yes, this also meant that we couldn’t walk past a graveyard without reading all the tombstones. (Why this guy married me is anyone’s guess.)
I love English cheeses to enjoy with a glass a wine. I love Hobnobs, especially the ones with chocolate.
I wish that I could say that I love the beer because there is definitely plenty to go around at the pub but I’ll stick with my rum and coke. I’ve never been much of a beer connoisseur.
And then … there is the Bacon. Oh yes.
Mind you, at home I’m not really much of a bacon-eater. I make it at most twice a year. Once on Christmas Eve when I put together our “crockpot breakfast casserole” that includes bits of fried bacon in addition to eggs, frozen hashbrowns, onion, and cheese. I throw it in the crockpot when we get back from Grandma’s house Christmas Eve night and by Christmas morning, it is a heavenly breakfast just waiting to be eaten. (Trust me!)
Beyond Christmas, well, every once in a blue moon I go insane and I decide it’s a good idea to pick up a package of bacon at the grocery store and randomly cook it for breakfast. Only problem is, I’m really the only one that cares to eat it and it’s more of a greasy headache than it’s worth.
American bacon is just messy.
But British Bacon. Oh my. Stu and his family introduced me to something they call a “bacon butty” and a mi me gusta mucho. As a matter of fact, whenever I visit, it’s a given that the in-laws will have bacon on hand to make me one for lunch.
I might love those people or something. They feed me.
So, how is this a tragic tale, you’re wondering?
Apparently, these delightful bacon sandwiches also come with another B word that I’m not so crazy about – Butter! As a matter of fact, it’s not so much that I don’t like butter, it’s more like I shudder at the thought of actually being in contact with the stuff. How can people put butter on their toast? On their potatoes? On their corn on the cob? Ick. Double ick. I’ve never liked butter and I never will. That goes for all the butter wannabes too like margarine and ‘I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter’ but why the hell is it even trying? I’ve never liked butter and that fact is never going to change.
The in-laws know this and they respect my wishes. A bacon butty without butter is amazing but …
Sometimes people forget.
As a good guest, I don’t want to disappoint the people who go out of their way to try to please me with the things that I like so during my last visit, mouth watering as I sat down at the table for a bacon butty and a cup of tea and bit into a sandwich that had both sides slathered with butter…
I still ate it.
I guess that says something for British Bacon.