Strawberry Sunrise

     As the sun gently stretched it's arms to wave away the cold gray clouds of the Bridger mountain range this morning to reveal hues of pink and orange,  I was in a vehicle traveling for work.  A feast for my eyes, my soul was drinking it like it was a strawberry milkshake.  My mind would wander between breaks in conversation to meals that I have eaten in the past with friends and loved ones.  It is that time of year after all, for most of us we are preparing for a meal that that is seen by many to be one that carries some of the largest expectations of the year.  The last big feast before a new year is rung in, the giant light emitting diode covered orb will drop down, everyone will cheer and exchange saliva, shoot fireworks and our thoughts will once again look forward into the unknown with an intent to hope for what the new year will bring.
     However, for now we will bask in the sunlight of December, and the memories of childhood Christmas's past.  The turkey, ham, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes.  I recall the smiles and laughter, the arguments that lead to apologies and awkward hugging.  Playing games with my siblings and nieces and nephews.  Seeing friends and relatives that were so special I'd only see them that time of year.
     For my family there were always three things that this time of year revolved around. Jesus, love, and of course food.  Sitting down for the Christmas meal together always began with a prayer of thanks.  Thanks for our lives, each other, the blessings that have been bestowed in our lives, and the ability to pass blessings on to other people.  A thank you of such proportion can rarely be expressed outwardly with words in a dinner prayer, but it is my understanding that it is the heart behind the gratitude and the life that accompanies it that really translates.
     Then it was time to break bread together.   This was one of two times a year that I ever recall eating turkey.  A bird that must have been mischievous , because my Texan Momma would always tell me "Jon Jon, you are a little Turkey", whenever I was pulling pranks.  Certainly a turkey was also a persnickety bird, because if you didn't take every appropriate step in baking it, there would likely be a ham on emergency backup.
     I remember that first turkey that my wife and I cooked.  It was a labor laden and slimy task.  Out of the oven we pulled the big bird every 45 minutes for more butter.  That was only after we had stuffed the things cavity full of home made stuffing, pulled it's skin back and tried to get him to relax by massaging herb laden butter into his meat, and covering him with cheese cloth before placing him into the tanning bed. When it was all said and done he was looking like the turkey doppelganger of George Hamilton or Mike "The Situation" for you  younger audience members.  His skin was a golden brown that seemed not naturally achieved, All he needed was a suit and tie, an agent and we would be in business.  Honestly I do jest,  the turkey was golden and delicious, and a memory that I will never forget. My wife had to work later that day, and seeing her commitment to a proper celebratory meal had me so in awe that I knew I had made the right decision in spousal commitment!  Not to get too personal, but we would definitely be having our firstborn son Caswell within the next year.

     The thing about food, for me anyway is this.  We don't just need it.  We don't just enjoy it.  We don't just talk and write and take pictures about it because it just tastes so good.  The food is a byproduct of a beautiful and mysterious process.  Once that transcends from need, to desire, to imagination, where the thought that we may have something too good in our mind to not share it with someone else.  You can share a meal with a loved one and create a lifelong memory that can pass through generations.  You may share a meal with a stranger and both of your lives may be changed for the better through the rest of your conscious days on earth.  Food is indeed a blessing, and blessings are indeed to be shared with others.  As you plan your next special meal I pray that you are blessed with peace, beautiful memories, and many beloved ones to share it with.  Until next time I bid dreams of bacon rainbows, chocolate rivers, and ice cream fortresses, and maybe even a candy cane highway to drive into the new year!

"Fry Like Bacon"

     It was a very early morning for me today.  Currently it is one thirty-eight mountain standard time

and about twenty minutes ago I woke up from a great nap, that had I not taken my brain may have

started to head in the direction of the title of this blog post.  "Fry Like Bacon."

     I have named this post "Fry Like Bacon" and I love bacon, but alas this post is not going to

actually have any bacon in it.  I know, I know, what a jerk!  Right?  I've uttered a sacred word in the

title that just may have been the grease in your curious wheels that brought you here.  I promise you

one thing though.  This meal had no bacon.  I'm sorry. Even now I'm holding back tears.  Now that I

have apologized we can start to pick up the shattered pieces of crispy bacon withdrawal and press

forward through a window of hope that just may see something new on the horizon.  That's right, I

thought of something new today.

    Something that I have never tried, never thought to try, or have even ever heard of someone else

trying.  Now I'm not claiming that this feat has never been done before, just pointing out that for ME

it was an original idea! The exclamation point is just because I'm excited not because I'm yelling at

you.

    So as I stated before,  I woke up at three a.m. so I could go out and plow snow, throw salt, and do

many other chores while most everyone else was fast asleep dreaming of bacon rainbows and

chocolate rivers.  Maybe that's just what I dream of while I plow.  While pushing snow I began to get

very hungry.  It turns out the bananas that I grabbed on the way out of the house were not so ripe yet,

and the mountain dew I drank was satisfying only in thought before I opened it and started drinking.  I did what you need to do when there is work to be done and no food to be eaten.  I pretended that I

was pushing ice cream across the ground with the snow plow and stacking it at the edge of the

property in a protective ice cream fortress that only hot fudge or a giant toddler could penetrate.  The

time was beginning to drone and drag slowly and the ice cream was starting to just look like snow,

and for the sake of time we will skip ahead in the story...

     I woke up to smells of breakfast!  My wife had done something wonderful in that tiny room at the

front of the apartment, so I excitedly asked, "did you make breakfast!?"  it certainly smelled like

food, good, hearty, American breakfast food was in there.  There had to be some BACON, eggs,  

hash browns, maybe some chicken fried steak.... "No I just made the boys an egg in a window!" was

her reply.  So there's that.  No breakfast, just a half sleepy man and his dreamy imagination elevating

the smell of fried toast with an egg in the middle to the glory of full on breakfast menagerie.

    I'm not one to let disappointment get the better of me, so I popped out of bed, litteraly popped, and

decided that I would follow suit with her idea and make myself an egg in a window.  MMMMMM I

could already smell it was the great thing, and so I could imagine the buttery fried edges of the toast,

the perfectly fried egg that when you cut into it the golden yoke slowly flows out like glorious soul

melting lava.  I opened the refrigerator door to grab an egg and then I saw it.  It was huge, menacing

even.  It looked like something a caveman would use to hit his mate over the head with before he

drug her off to the cave.  Summer sausage.  I had forgotten that we picked this up at the market last

night.  I don't know if it was the caveman analogy or just the remnants of the Mountain Dew doing

things to my mind, but I was struck with an idea that was all new to me.  "I'm going to cut some of

this off and fry it with my egg in a frame" I said aloud to myself.  That's right, I talk to myself.  I also

blog and that's kind of the same thing.

     So I cut a piece about a quarter inch thick, think half the length of your thumbnail up from the

cutting board.  I already had my egg in a frame going in the pan somewhere between medium and

medium hi.  I decided to crank it up to high for a moment when I first dropped the sausage in the pan

just so I could hear it squeal.  No really I wanted to crisp the edges a tiny bit, but it did squeal.  Then

I remembered what my wife told be about bacon the morning before (there's that bacon again).

She said "cook it on a lower heat and it will render the fat out of it and make it crisper."  Not sure if

this is true but it seemed to work with the bacon (bacon) and my wife cooks better than your's, so I

thought I'd try it out.  I turned the heat down.  Something about this seemed like I was doing

something right.  Like that same kind of feeling when you are doing something nice for someone that

could never repay you, only in this case I was just feeding myself.  The sausage was starting to roll

up a little bit, think fried bologna, or Baloney if you don't like the weird spelling.  It didn't smell like

bologna though,  it smelled spicy, smelled like I had cranked the amplifier to eleven, it smelled good.

    It was done!  I plated this curious new idea and sat down at the table.  The first bite was not what I

expected.  I had kept telling myself, "this is gonna be weird, why did you do this?"  Bam!  I was

shocked!  It was so much better than eating summer sausage cold.  This set off a train of thoughts

and questions in my mind.  Why have I never thought to cook this before? It's sausage, most sausage

is cooked.   How many times have I eaten this and had that oily film left behind on the roof of my

mouth because the congealed fat was plastered up there like spackle? WHO CARES!? I had to eat

this now.  I did eat it, like a bear mauling a tourist in Yellow Stone.  I let my wife have a bite,

because I lover her (lover her? that typo made that sound kind of personal) more than any other

human in this world and this was too good to hoard.  Then the Cazman wanted some so I let him

have a bite.  It was starting to look like this was actually something good, not just half baked

concoction of a hungry man that just woke up from a nap.  So I made more.  I am going to post some

pictures below so you can see.

     What can I say about this meal?  It wasn't bacon, but it was good.  If you live somewhere near a

market with some summer sausage give it a shot.  You don't have to eat it cold, you can have it hot.

You don't have to take my word for it, eat it yourself...the eating rainbow!  If you were a kid in the

eighties you should get that.  If not, I'm sorry that you didn't get to be a kid in the eighties.  Until

next time I bid you dreams of bacon rainbows, chocolate rivers, and ice cream fortresses.

On the plate

In the pan

Without the lid

Bacon Burger a la Kaiser

     After taking my oldest son to his mid week extra curricular activities I had a spark of thought light a tiny campfire of amazing dinner idea inside my mind.  So I decided to head to the market here in town.  
     I had remembered my wife's words from about two weeks ago, and they were ringing true. She had mentioned that you could get a pound of bacon from the deli for about the same price as a pound of the prepackaged, mostly fat "bacon" that was in the cold cuts aisle.  So I decided to find this out for myself.  Sure as sunrise she was right.  There in front of me was thick, meaty, dare I say ham like bacon in the deli case.  It was only five (that's American green backs) dollars per pound!  This bacon looked good raw, and was just taunting me, as if it were saying "You won't put me in you'r frying pan, you don't have what it takes to handle these loins!"  On the contrary bacon!  
    So the next logical thing to do was to procure the best possible ground beef that this market had to offer.  The choices were fairly standard, but I went with a lean ground beef since this bacon would certainly be upping the goodness.  Now I just need to find the right buns to put this American farm show inside of...so that meant I had to go to a different market with a better bakery.  
    Down, down, down the road I drove.  Once inside this other market I found freshly baked kaiser rolls. I almost went with a potato roll...but I felt the German history crying out for a second chance at making the Americans happy. (just kidding Germans, don't get mad) Now it was off to the homestead!   But not before I picked up some good quality chocolate, a movie for me and my wife, and a movie for the kids.  Never go home with special dinner requests without a game plan! 
    Once home I unfurled the news of my quest for the perfect bacon burger to my beautiful and very talented wife.  She agreed to cook for me once I explained that It wouldn't taste how it would in my mind if I were to cook dinner.  After all, we would not want these beautiful ingredients to go to waste!  voila! Dinner is on the way.  I needed to go pick my son back up.  After that the night would be perfect, bacon burgers, chocolate, the kids watch their movie, we watch our movie, the kids go to bed, we...fall asleep from a chocolate, beef , and bacon induced coma.  That's right baby, Snore City. 
     The burgers were revved up right on time!  I picked up the Cazman, we floated in the door to smell this!  BAM!!

Sadly, I didn't think to take more pictures from other angles, (mostly because i had to cram this into my face immediately) 

and smell-o-vision has not been invented yet (come on science!) Hopefully you get the idea!  I have to give a huge thank you to my wife for this burger, and sweet potato fries with secret spices no less!