Saturday, March 19, 2011

We walk a single path from birth to death punctuated by cured meats



It looks better here.
~

JOHNNY BACONSEED: A POEM FOR THE HOPELESS ROMANTICS
by Joel Chmara

When strips of pork Godliness dance-crackle-curl on the pan,
I will be there,
puffing my chest
accepting pops of grease on my shirt
like a Deputy Ditka badge.

Garments perfumed with slight bacon splatter is no call for stain-lifter.
Nay, it simply ensures that one will carry the greatest foodstuff essence
for the rest of the day.
Take heed dear readers,
to love bacon is to carry the smokey scent with you
as an am-bad-ass-ador of the fine piggy belly brine.

I am that breed of bacon lover
spreading its virtues
as Johnny Baconseed.
Baconology mentored to friends
of how to incorporate it into every dish.
Caramelized, Hickory Smoked, Peppered, Mapeled
Sweet or Savory
Lardon or in Bits
I can baconate any menu
for the better of humankind.

When the final bite of a bacon treat
crunches in my mouth
leaving the perfect salty smoke sensation
I whisper to no one in particular,
“That’ll do pig. That’ll do.”

© 2011 Joel Chmara