Laughing Ladybug Yoga

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Why is bacon so good?

I was vegetarian for about 4 years, until my body started crying out for chicken. I struggled with this craving for months before finally understanding that if my body was needing it, there must be a reason. I started listening to the wisdom of my body. This was about 5 years ago.

I do eat very mindfully.  Though my diet is no longer 100% plant-based, I do make sure I have at least one vegetarian day during the week and I’ve recently started having one vegan day. My meat consumption is usually lean chicken or fish, and of course, I always thank the animal for the gift of its life. I rarely eat red meat. This kind of mindful eating isn’t rooted in guilt, but in the interest of my physical, mental, and spiritual health, and in ahimsa, or non-harm, having compassion for myself and the creatures and earth around me.  ANYway. . .

Weldon found a great little diner on the west side of town. (Finding great little diners is one of Weldon’s biggest strengths.) They have full breakfasts for $4.99. Their decaf is good and fresh and they serve real half and half, not non-dairy creamer. And their bacon, oh my stars their bacon. . .

They serve the best bacon I’ve ever eaten in my entire life any time anywhere.

Usually I forego breakfast meat and ask for a side of fruit. But this is the kind of diner that doesn’t have a side of fruit. So I figured I would get the standard bacon and give it to Weldon. I took a bite, just to try it before I handed it over to him. And oh me oh my. It’s cut thick, but not too thick. Tender, yet crispy on the edges. Not tough or chewy like some diner bacon can be. And the flavor? Smoky and genuine, the bacon-y goodness coming through loud and clear. No burned taste, no fatty taste. Just honest, real, good bacon. I ate all 3 pieces they had generously loaded onto my plate. (That’s worth 4 Weight Watchers point, for you that keep up with that sort of thing!)

So what it is about bacon that can take a healthful and benevolent yogi and turn her into a shameless carnivore? Maybe it’s my deep southern heritage. Maybe it’s because I live in Texas. Or maybe it’s just because bacon is goooooood.

Weldon’s answer: “Pigs is magical.”

OK. Maybe. Farm pigs do carry the energy of some kind of Zen-like bliss. They’re pretty happy with what they’re given, their lot in life. They’re very accepting. But ham ain’t this good. And neither are pork chops. It’s something about the bacon.  Maybe it has to do with where the cut comes from. American bacon comes primarily from the pork belly. I’m not sure what that would imply. Is it that the part of the animal closest to the earth is the most magical? Or is it something particularly about THIS bacon at THIS diner?

I told the waitress how much I was enjoying the bacon and asked her, “Why is this bacon so good?” A look of panick and perplexity swept across her face and she stammered, “Because. . .  we. . . cook it. . .  well??” Then she qualified her answer with a quick, “Idon’tknow,” and a shrug of her shoulders. And she walked away.

She obviously doesn’t share my angst about this question.

So you tell me, good people of the world: why is bacon so good? Where have you had your dream bacon? Maybe we can answer this together.

My best friend’s father died on Saturday. I’ve known her and her family since I was 13 years old, so her family feels like my family.

Weldon and I went to see them yesterday afternoon and took what seemed like 10 pounds of chicken salad and a loaf of sourdough bread. While we were there, other friends brought a ton of cold cuts and bread, enough to make about a million sandwiches. There were already lots of cookies and donuts there.

I spoke to my friend, her sisters, and their mother. Her mother told me it was so nice to see my sweet face, which touched my heart deeply. And we visited with all the other relatives, the ones that we usually see at birthday parties.

There was much sadness in the house, but  plenty of laughter also. All the kids were running around, enjoying all the people and all the cookies. I finally told my friend I would be on call for her all week and I would be keeping in touch, and Weldon and I left after lots more hugs.

On our way home, Weldon and I had a long conversation. He said he never knows what to see in those situations, that he always has to fight the urge to ask, “How are you?” He said it doesn’t feel completely right to him to ask that, since he already knows the answer.

I think it’s an OK question to ask. It’s what I asked my friend, her sisters, and their mother. It gave each of them a chance to say out loud, I’m doing awful. Not good. I don’t know yet. This sucks. And it gave us a chance to cry together and to share a moment of human connection through strong emotion.

I was grateful that Weldon and I had this conversation. It helped me see that this kind of presence and connection is what makes life beautiful. And I will watch for opportunities to experience it. It obviously doesn’t have to be connection through sadness. It could be connection through joy and laughter or complete presence through conscious gratitude for a particular person in my life. But now that Weldon has helped me open up this awareness, I’ll be on the lookout for it everywhere.