Comfort Food at Its Finest

I'm still sick. So is the Bear. And now Wonderful Husband makes it a hat trick.

After we got the Bear down for a nap this morning I decided we needed to feel better. Since I can't take any cold medicine, that left comfort food. So I dragged my stuffy-headed ass out of bed and into the kitchen, where I ventured into culinary territory that might even put Steve to shame.

First, I threw together some Bisquick pancakes. Because even this Martha devotee has her limits. Then I fried up a pound of bacon.

Yes, a pound. Yes, there's only two of us. But I've got lettuce and tomato and a three pound jar of mayo, so I say if you're gonna have bacon for breakfast ya might as well have it for lunch too.

Then I did something most of us have only heard about from Oprah shows featuring Dr. Oz and an interesting array of colon samples.

I fried me up some eggs in the bacon grease.

I've never done it before. Last time I saw it done I was about 14, standing at the elbow of my hard core farmer's wife Grandma Helen. And while she dropped egg after egg into the bacon drippings, she reminded me to be sure to put the special margarine on Grandpa's toast, because the doctor put him on a low-cholesterol diet.

I couldn't make this up if I wanted to.

And really, what the hell do I know? Grandma Helen has long since passed, but 22 years later Grandpa is 89 and still single-handedly running the farm. Literally single-handedly, by the way - he blew one of them off in a stupid teenage shotgun accident. And he's still, I betcha, eating his eggs fried in bacon grease, though he lets the local diner do most of his cooking these days.

So, here's to Grandma Helen and comfort food when nothing else will do. And here's hoping we're all still eating bacon fried eggs at 89.

mmmmmm... bacon.

Vegetarians are Soylent Green for chickens.

Irony at its finest...

Next time I'll go for less zombie, more smiley face.

I feel better already.