I Reviewed a Bacon Sandwich Because My Best Friend Paid Me

My best friend and noted stupid boy Greg Hill-Turner misread a Twitter DM in his slightly intoxicated, depressed emotional state and confused my disdain for a lunch deadline (mixed with my lack of creative drive to write the article for it) for me writing an essay on my lunch itself and being unhappy about it. After several exchanges of bemusement, I yelled at him to pay me £5 to write an essay on a bacon sandwich and the mad bastard actually did it. He told me to go fuck myself while paying me for a commission which is certainly an interesting way to get paid for writing. Now, as an independent writer who has spent a lot of money on an elaborate journalist trip to the capital city of Great Britain, I’m not going to ignore 5 pounds for the sake of a joke and am now obligated to write about this fucking sandwich.

I hadn’t eaten bacon in the two weeks prior to this moment. It was a hard time in my life. I was down in England, in the smog infested home of incredibly cute girls and lovely festival organisers, and relying solely on known chain restaurants to survive the day with food in my stomach. Unfortunately, the bacon in many burger places is notoriously antagonistic to the combined flavour of the other ingredients, as many culinary institutions go for the rancid cheap stuff, and I was deeply afraid over what ordering a London bacon sandwich in a restaurant would entail. As you can tell, this lack of textural embrace from the definitive breakfast/lunch food took a toll on my mental and physical health, leaving me in a great state of confused ennui and homesickness. While walking down the dimly lit overcrowded moonlight streets of London, with nothing but my music and money to keep me company, I contemplated the last bites of the bacon I had a few days before leaving. The overwhelming taste, the sensation of home that my dad’s trademark bacon sandwiches provide to my life, the smell that lingers in the room hours after the meal has concluded.

My dad manages to make the perfect balance for your ideal bacon sandwich, not soaking the bread with either grease from the pan or an excessive amount of spread butter, making for an easy and delicious culinary experience. The bacon tends to be the right amount of crispy, accentuating the flavour of the meat without overcooking and diluting the taste. Some people prefer undercooked or charred bacon but I believe that the ideal form is right in the middle, stopping the cooking just before the point of no return. I also hold the controversial stance that your ideal bacon sandwich contains streaky bacon and white bread, but also that no sauces are used on the bread or meat. The ideal sandwich has been crafted and cooked to perfection, meaning that no additional artificial textureless slop needs to be coated on top of it for the sake of numb taste buds. I once dated someone who suggested mayonnaise on a bacon sandwich and honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if that was the main reason I had no love left for them in my body.

While I’m sure that my dad’s particular brand of bacon sandwich aren’t the best in the world, there’s a lot of loaves and animals left to experience, there is a palpable sense of comfort that comes from sitting down with a plate of them and relaxing with a sweet cup of tea. It makes you feel like after all your travels and stresses, that the world is simple and beautiful sometimes. I sat down with my sandwiches, put on a video and ate my meal, feeling like the world was alright for now. And after they were gone and my day began to fully kick into gear, a little part of me felt like a child again, waiting for his special breakfasts for my birthday. For some reason, that made me feel ready for the world and I stepped into the unknown, ready for wherever it would take me.