We hosted a brunch for a family birthday yesterday. It was a good excuse to make bacon. I find myself having to justify the bacon experience. It's so naughty. So fattening. So delicious! My husband and I have a rule about bacon. If it snows 2 inches or more, we're allowed to eat it. Even if the snow falls in the middle of the week. (The threshold used to be 4 inches, but, you know, global warming.)
I never cook it on the stove top. It makes such a disgusting mess, and the whole house smells like pig for days. We only cook it in the oven. And I only cook it prior to a shower because the smell permeates clothes, and hair. I burn a candle every time I cook bacon, hoping it will suck away or at least mask some of the odor.
I noticed that the smell of bacon makes the whole house uneasy. The dog paces around in the kitchen, hoping against hope that I'll drop some on the floor. I sneak guilty little bites of the broken off pieces while no one is looking, and don't post the calories on Noom. And my husband, who has a tee shirt that reads "Bacon is meat candy," lurks. He thinks I don't notice when he steals a piece. He doesn't know that I count each delicious slice. I don't beat him up about it. Because it's easy to lose control around bacon.