BLT’s (From the upcoming Cookbook For The Incompetent Male)

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see the letters BLT? That is correct. Beelzebubs Loose Tooth. Also acceptable are Bandaids Launch To-Venus, Bastards Live Twice and Bunch-of Lice-ridden Tarantulas. Today, however, I am referring to Bacon Lettuce Tomato, as in the classic sandwich. Please tell me that you love this as much as moi. Email me, if you must. Anyways. Where was I? On my way to Sandwichville, USA.

Ingredient and supply listings in no schpecific order:

-A loaf of bread and/or a loaf of toast

-A package of bacon

-Mayo

-Lettuce

-Tomato

-Frying pan

-Knife

-Cutting board

1) To kick it off, I like to turn on my oven (not in that way, perv) so I’m able to keep aspects of the sandwich warm as we progress. 200 degrees will do.

2) Then I go straight for the bacon. I’ve yet to go gay for it so let’s keep going straight..for..it. Take your proverbial frying pan and put it on a big burner then crank that thing up to about a 6. When the pan is hot enough, and you’ll know by touching it dead center with the tip of your elbow, put the bacon into it.

3) You’re gonna wanna have a grease container on hand because not unlike your forehead, as the bacon cooks, grease aka fat will accumulate. And you gotta drain that crap, I’ll let you figure out how.

4) Using a fork or something, continue to turn the bacon, cooking all angles of each piece of carefully sliced oinker. Do not overcook, unless you like eating wood. Drain remaining fat, put bacon on a plate and toss it in your warm oven.

5) You’ve done it, bro. Mastered the hard part of this here equation of cuisine and I’m danged proud of you. The rest of this dance is merely cutting veggies and toasting bread. But sure..I’ll walk you through it, like a child in a droopy, poopy diaper unknowledgable in practically every way. Lett-uce proceed.

6) I like to get the toast portion out of the way so have at it, toast as many pieces as you think you’ll need. Here’s my rule of thumb: 2 pieces equals 1 sandwich. Boom. When done, leave dry, stack neatly on a plate and proceed to slip it also into the oven. Next!

7) The veggie prep ‘n cut. When our great ancestors of old would make this sandwich, they would use old leaves and dirt for the lettuce, and rocks for the tomato. Little known piece of history there for ya. Anyway. Cut up some lettuce and slice up your tomato. Next! Actually, before next, I like to splish a little salt and pep-hair onto the tomatoes. That means you do it, too.

8) This step leaves us with a fully finished and ready to eat sandwich in your hands so get ready. I know you can friggin do this. I’ve seen you struggle and this time the rewards are bountiful. And beautiful. Turn off your oven. Mitt up and pull out the bacon and the tower o’ toast. Lay out your toast and get some mayo on your knife, by whatever means humanely necessary, then slather it on your toasts. Slather like you’ve not yet slathered in a while. Then put on the other 3 ingredients and I don’t give a rats ass what order you do it in. Lettuce then tomato then bacon? Whatever, just get it on there. Then put your other piece of mayo’d toast on top, cut from corner to corner symmetrically and hello. I always knew you had it in you. Now I’m serious. Put it literally in you. Namaste.

*Sidenotes

-There are many ways to cook bacon. You can bake it in a pan in the oven, you can fry it like we did, you can boil it and you can put it on a wienie roast stick and emerse it in fire. This way is the most fun ’cause when the fat drips, it acts like fireworks interacting with the flames. I highly suggest you try this, drunk or sober.

-I vividly recall the first time I was exposed to a BLT sandwich. I was 39 years young and my mom had just grounded me and my friends for digging up our neighbor and nemesis Mrs. Rickenbocquers garden again. I had also urinated on her rhubarb patch for good measure. My friend little Martin Milleeni hated veggies so I can only assume making us eat these sandwiches littered with vegetables was also part of mom’s discipline, bless her beating heart. I wore my lucky bib, just in case I made a spill. I remember picking up the toasted half sandwich and putting it under my nose to get what southerners call a “whiff”. It whiffed real good. I took my first bite. I heard the crunch of the toast, the crackling of the lettuce and the zing of the rest of it. All of these fantastic flavours wrestling on my tongue, it was the best day of my life.

Needless to say, Martin choked on his lettuce and we were unable to revive him. But still, best day ever.

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