Mar. 22, 2017

Beer-Battered Deep Fried Bacon

One morning, while in Myrtle Beach, my husband, Reese, and I decided to stop for breakfast. Since I do not eat fast food for breakfast, we thought a buffet would be a great place. I would be able to pick out something easier for me to eat.

We sat at a table next to a redneck family. How do I know they were redneck? Well, there are certain telltale signs to spot a redneck family. My first hint was the little boy who kept yelling, “Paw! Hey Paw! Do y’all mind if I get some more … (whatever he wanted more of at the time)”

In southern regions, “y’all” is used as a noun both singularly and plural interchangeably.

The other give-away was “Paw.” I swear, I could smell his armpits every time he leaned back and stretched, which was often. His attire said a lot about him, too. He wore a cap with fishing quotes, a short sleeve t-shirt, knee length shorts, with a pair of rubber sandals and crew cut socks (as it was chilly that morning) but, the big revealer was the spit cup that sat to the right of his breakfast plate(s). To be fair, I don’t know if it was really his spit cup or “Maw’s.” Maybe they shared it.

I approached the breakfast bar and saw what looked like huge fried chitterlings (pronounced as “chitlins” here in the south). I had no idea what it was so I asked the man behind the bar about it. “They are beer-battered and deep fried bacon slices.”

“No kidding?”

“Yup. Try them. If you don’t like it you can always pick something else from the rest of the breakfast bar.”

(Yup, indeed, I was in redneck-ville)

I tried one. It didn’t taste too bad. It certainly was not something I would indulge in on a regular basis though. As a matter of fact, my eating them would probably be far and few between. As if to confirm that idea, I suddenly had the strong urge to throw up.

Once I left the ladies’ room, I went back to the breakfast bar to get something more nutritious. I settled on a spoonful of three-bean salad, pineapple, tangerine slices, and a spoonful of scrambled eggs, onions, and fresh mushrooms with a tiny amount of melted cheese drizzled on top.

I sat down and ate about half before I was back in the bathroom bringing everything up again. I exited the ladies’ room a little wobbly and sat down at our table.

“Are you okay?” Reese asked. “It’s not staying down?”

I shook my head. “It’s not staying down. I don’t know if it’s the bacon making me ill or his sweaty armpits,” I answered slightly nodding my head in Paw’s direction.

I looked around the room and shook my head again. My husband, noting my expression asked, “What?”

I leaned in to him, “Have you noticed no one in this place is under 200 pounds.” He snickered a little. “I’m serious. Even the two-year-old toddler next to us is the size of a small fishing boat anchor. That’s what eating beer-battered, deep-fried, bacon strips will get you.”

I attempted to eat the other half of my eggs, bean salad and fruit pieces. I was doing pretty well until Paw stretched again. Off to the ladies’ room I went. This visit was worse than any other before it. This time, everything I ate was coming back up, including dinner from the night before and any possible dinners I had thought of eating in the future.

I was praying and bargaining with God. “Please, Lord, I swear, make this stop and I will never, ever, eat another piece of beer-battered, deep-fried, bacon again! (We’ve had this same conversation before over bagels so He knew I meant it)”

I didn’t realize I was praying out loud until I heard someone say, “Honey, are you alrigh’ in there? Here, I brought you some napkins. They righ’chere.”

I looked down at the door and there was a hand sticking underneath waving a thick stack of napkins at me. “Thank you. I’m okay,” I said as I flushed the potty and opened the door. It was Maw. She had gone and gotten them from the table. Bless her heart.

Forty-five minutes and three trips to the ladies’ room later, I gave up trying to eat. The manager comp’d me a couple of free buffet dinners for later use. Although it won’t be any time soon before I go back, when I do; you can believe I will not be eating any beer-battered, deep-fried, bacon slices.