I headed out early and though the humidity (ugh) was still around, the slight breeze made it feel cooler than the last few mornings. I was walking along, minding my own business, when all of a sudden the smell of bacon assailed my nostrils. I sniffed appreciatively. If my nose served me right, I believe I smelled some hash browns too, or perhaps that was my vivid imagination. The humid atmosphere made the breakfast smells linger in the air, and oh my … as I passed the house the window was up and I swear I heard the bacon sputtering and sizzling. Flies were clinging all over the screen busily hunting for some type of opening to get in and investigate. I can remember coming home from school or work and walking up the side of the house and seeing dozens of flies clustered onto our side screen door. My mom would hear me jiggle the door handle and call out to watch the *&^% flies! She’d be frying up some greasy good food like chicken tenders or pork chops and the flies were on the outside looking in and hoping for a trip inside to sample what smelled so darn good. Even the screen didn’t help air out the kitchen because we did not have a hood over the stove and the grease smell would take forever to dissipate.

I kept walking, but hated to leave behind the house where the cook, presumably the mom, was determined she’d make one last big breakfast for the family before the routine of school kicked in and sports events might encompass most weekend mornings going forward. Soon, instead of hearing pots and pans rattling in the kitchen to ready a hearty breakfast to start the day, the sounds will consist of the ding of the microwave heating up a cardboard-tasting breakfast biscuit or perhaps the toaster popping up with toast or Pop-Tarts. Running late? There’s always breakfast on the fly at Mickey D’s. I’m a bowl-of-oatmeal person myself – seven days a week and I love it.

Now I can’t remember the last time I chowed down on bacon, which was part of Sunday breakfast for years, then dwindled down to an occasional treat during beefsteak tomato season to make an awesome BLT. But that was in the microwave. No counter-space in the kitchen meant the microwave reposed in the basement. A bacon-cooking session left the basement and the coats hanging down there smelling of bacon for weeks – not so nice. We finally eliminated the greasy, yummy bacon and opted for Canadian bacon – one quick turn in the frying pan or microwave and much less muss and fuss. Then my mom cut down on our sodium intake and bacon became an even-scarcer treat. I’ve kept up with the low-sodium diet and have waved so long to bacon altogether.

But growing up, my mom and her farmer’s breakfasts encompassed half of the day. By the time we’d finish up washing the dishes and putting them away, she’d finally plop down to read the Sunday newspapers and soon my father would wander into the kitchen and announce he was hungry. She would give him “the look” and he’d say “well, … maybe later”. The prep for the farmer’s breakfast actually started the day before when she’d peel and boil up a big bowl of potatoes, then as soon as she got up on Sunday morning, she’d dice up those potatoes and put them in the cast iron frying pan to start browning them. Next, she’d chop up two small onions and toss them in there as well; it smelled heavenly as they were frying and getting crispy and occasionally I’d burn my thumb and index finger trying to remove a crispy potato out of the hot pan. In another greasy frying pan was a pound of bacon needing constant maintenance to get it perfect – not too limp, not too crisp and it was spattering everywhere, despite the screen placed atop the pan. Still another two burners were occupied by smaller frying pans cooking scrambled and fried eggs respectively. My mom would lament that it took a good hour to cook our farmer’s breakfast, a half-hour to enjoy it and another two hours to clean up. We never owned a dishwasher – we were the dishwashers. After years of making a farmer’s breakfast every Sunday morning, my mom finally threw in the towel and we settled on a trip to Kate’s Kitchen in Flat Rock a few times a year. Kate’s is famous for its huge breakfasts, all served up with fresh, hot biscuits and white country gravy – mmmmmm. The never-ending crowd on a Saturday morning curves all around the parking lot. We’d leave sated and feeling unable to move, but the biggest plus in this cholesterol-laden-but-delicious breakfast was no clean-up!

Since the topic today is bacon, we’ll go from eating bacon to bringing home the bacon – what a segue, eh? Today we salute those who bring home the bacon. It’s a day to be toes up, kick back, relax a bit and unwind from the daily grind … there are so few three-day holidays during the Summer and now we’ve used ‘em all up. Happy Labor Day (or Labour Day if you are a Canuck like me), for tomorrow it’s back to the salt mines.