I don’t like to cook. I’m so glad there are people in the world that view cooking as an art because I do love to eat. My husband, given the opportunity, would enjoy experimenting in the kitchen. Joel loves to peruse cookbooks and magazines, and about every few months, he grandly announces that he’s going to start making one new recipe per week. Not only that, he says going to eat healthier. I guess along with the butter and syrup, he’s going to start putting fruit on his pancakes.
We stayed at a beautiful bed and breakfast for our anniversary a couple of years ago. Our visit happened to coincide with a cooking class, and the staff asked if we’d like to sign up. Of course, I had gone to the B and B to get out of the kitchen, but not wanting to seem like a party pooper, I went along with it. Besides, the theme for the meal was bacon.
We joined several other couples and listened as the chef explained how each pair would choose a recipe to make from the baconesque menu. I quickly scanned our choices and honed right in on the “sea-salt crusted baked potatoes.” They sounded good, and all we’d have to do was wash them, coat them in olive oil, roll them in sea salt and bacon bits, and we’d be free to go back to our room and nap while we waited for those laboring over the more complex tasks.
We got busy and powered through our recipe in only 15 minutes. Our overachieving did not pay off. Unfortunately, we had fallen victim to the classic bait and switch trick. Having implied that each couple need only complete one recipe before indulging in wine tasting and then escaping to their room, the chef then proceeded to call us back to the kitchen as we slunk out with our free bottle of wine. Personally, I thought he was a bit pedantic with his, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Just where do you think you’re going, you two?”
Apparently, somewhere in the fine print, there was a clause about those who chose to bake potatoes having to make an additional five recipes. I stand by my statement that the chef had it in for us because those who made the main dishes, desserts, and salads finished up long before we had completed these braided bacon cups that required lessons in advanced crochet techniques. Joel and I spent two hours making these blasted cups, and we weren’t even supposed to eat any of the bacon we were using as an art medium. I did get a bit of secret revenge, however, because occasionally, about every other crocheted bacon cup or so, a piece would crumble. Obviously unfit for consumption, these pieces of bacon would then disappear faster than those chocolates in that famous I Love Lucy conveyor belt sketch.
Joel was a good sport, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was actually a bit glad that we got stuck with cooking detention. He tried to cheer me up by telling a series of incredibly stupid bacon jokes.
“Hey honey,” he would chuckle. “What do you call a dinosaur wrapped in bacon? Jurassic Pork! HAHAHA! Listen to this one: An egg and a piece of bacon walk into a bar. The bartender says, ‘We don’t serve breakfast here!’ HAHAHAHA!”
Eventually, we completed 36 braided bacon cups. I have to admit that they looked rather impressive, lined up on the countertop filled with chocolate mousse. Not wanting to be outdone by Joel’s dumb jokes, I made the comment that we were as talented as Pablo “Pig”casso. Someone followed up with, “More like Jackson Ham Hock,” and it just went downhill from there.
All’s well that ends well, because the feast was incredible, and Joel got to try his new recipes for the month, though I doubt we’ll be crocheting with bacon again anytime soon.
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