So Bacon is Cleveland?

Tea: Jacob's Dream

Music: Mott the Hoople, "All the Young Dudes"

Time: Night.

With the kids out of the house, one package of bacon goes farther than usual.

Last night, it was BLTs (one of the ten best sandwiches in the world, in no particular order).

Tonight, some crumbled up leftovers went on top of a white pizza, along with cream cheese, yellow onion rings, thinly sliced Roma tomatoes and a sprinkling of shredded Mozzarella and Parmesan.

There are four uncooked slices still in the refrigerator. They'll go into a pasta sauce tomorrow, along with more onion, roasted red bell pepper and the remaining Roma.

I've heard rumors that there are people out there who get tired of bacon. I'm not one of them. I'm not even half of one of them.

This is because ... and yes, it takes the upper case: Bacon Rocks.

It rocks on its own -- the thicker the cut, the better -- and as an accompaniment for everything from cheeseburgers to steamed green beans to filets. I've even had a chocolate bar with bacon -- and you know what? That's right. It rocked.

(Pancetta, a subset of bacon, also rocks. This must be duly noted.)

I'm not sure who first got the idea of curing pork belly and then applying smoke. (Not where it was first done -- the visionary who first conceived of bacon.) There is, however, some interesting reading to be had here and here.

Whoever it was ... I raise a rasher to you. Because you, too, rock.