Dear American bacon , I really think its crappy you don?t live in Australia. I like to think we have some good memories together?like the time I made ten slices of you to top off a killer baked potato soup, but ate all of you before dinner even started. And then there was the time I put you on top of my chicken before roasting it, and your lovely fat kept my chicken breasts moist and unbelievably delicious while flavoring the vegetables that my chicken rested on with just a touch of kick-ass ness. Oh, it wasn?t all sugar and spice. I know this. But what relationship ever is? I like to think we have learned from our mistakes, and I think we BOTH know I will never attempt to cook you while only partially clothed. It was a dark time for both of us, me with third degree burns in embarrassing places and you literally dark after I forgot about you and burned you. But I kept coming back for more and you know why? You are special, bacon. A special, special meat product that could really teach Australia what quality pork products should taste like. So please, save me from this pork drudgery. Bacon, I need you. Love, Leena! Well, at least one person heard my cry for help…Bobby is my food twin (aka food soul mate) in Chicago. He read my letter of despair and decided to hook a sister up the only way he knows how: with food porn of some proper brekky bacon (brekky is Aussie slang for breakfast). I love you, Bobby. So here it is, with a few pictures cut out for good measure (a girl?s gotta have her secrets!).
This Bobby cooking responsibly. Cage-free eggs. And yes, sans shirt. Bobby lives in a land where shirt wearers are considered communists and are regularly beaten with a sharp, pointy anti-communist stick. At least that is what he tells his mom. Plus, he has clearly never had bacon grease burn him in spots that should never be anywhere near bacon grease. Heed my warning, good friend: Just say nay! Bobby made a shocking discovery while gathering the necessary ingredients for my breakfast feast: llamas like eggs too.
The llama wasn’t really keen on sharing, but after a grueling 4 ? minute staring contest, Bobby emerged the victor and commenced with the cookery. And here it is! Applewood-smoked, thick-sliced bacon and all the trimmings.
I would like to thank Bobby for this delicious looking food porn, and the risks he took in making this meal (bacon grease, llama fight). But I would also like to slap him a bit, because anyone knows CRISPY bacon is far better than soft. Soft bacon makes me vomit a little in my throat, which is probably why I can?t choke down Australian bacon (really just fried ham, but don?t tell THEM that). But to thank my pal, I would like to cook brekky for Bobby. And shockingly, a Mexican brekky, given the severe lack of Mexican ingredients in Australia. Huevos rancheros is usually fried eggs in a sauce served on top of corn tortillas. This is my version of huevos rancheros for Bobby:
I made a quick red sauce out of crushed canned tomatoes, chicken stock, chipotle peppers, onions, garlic and a little cumin. Instead of using plain corn tortillas, I made them into quesadillas made with 20 month aged New Zealand cheddar, and topped them with fried eggs over easy (goo rocks), the heated sauce, more cheese, and a bit of avocado. And of course, tater tots.
It was by far my best brekky to date in Australia (although these eggs come close). I hope you enjoy it, Bobby. And I hope you never have to find out why making bacon naked truly sucks. ~LTG
