Mo’s Bacon Bar comes in tiny half-ounce doses.
It’s hard to remember some of the earlier epochs of the Age of Foodism. We’re currently passing through the Era of Fried Chicken, but please recall that before that there was a period in which we adored Neapolitan pizzas; and, before that, an era of pork belly infatuation so intense that heart patients were keeling over in the streets.
But cast your mind back to the remote Bacon Era. It was a time when bacon could land almost anywhere. There was bacon ice cream and bacon bourbon and bacon for no good reason, on and in everything.
Well, perhaps fortunately, few vestiges of bacon-mania persist. I came upon one the other day when a friend offered me a tiny candy bar that had been discreetly packaged in both cardboard and foil; it was one of a set of 10 that came in a pastel box. Clearly it wasn’t a chocolate bar: It was a dosage.
I put it in my pocket to enjoy in private when I got home. Days later, I unwrapped it with trembling hands, peeling back the foil from one end of the small rectangle. The first bite wasn’t promising; the bacon flavor hadn’t melded with the chocolate, and the texture was like ground-up cornflakes. As a bacon delivery system it sucked. As a chocolate bar it sucked. I threw most of it away.
Still, I was allowed to feel smug for a second that I’d survived the Bacon Era, and had even overcome nagging bacon addicition, as evidenced by my ability to not finish a bacon chocolate bar.
Then I went into the kitchen to see if I had any real bacon.
No trace is seen of the bacon inside Mo’s Bacon Bar until you bite into it.