The word I swore I’d never use…

(Guest post by The Boyfriend)


There.  I said it, and I’m glad.

A high school English teacher and former newspaper reporter with an average to above-average vocabulary, I can do better.  And when I started writing the occasional post for wine me, dine me, I swore I’d never use…that word…for describing particularly tasty vittles, no matter how delicious they might be.  It’s so cliche.  And besides, I’m not given to hyperbole.

But I’ve wracked my brain, and I’ve decided that…that word…is the only adjective for describing HoneyBaked Ham’s new Fire-Roasted Bacon.

Don’t believe me?  Just ask the upstairs neighbor.  He was home on the Sunday morning that Julie first prepared this stuff.  (See what I mean about the above-average vocabulary?)  Ask him about the sounds he heard wafting through his floor that morning.  He’ll tell you.

We first tasted this ambrosia at the HoneyBaked kiosk at the Mason Bigg’s.  Have you ever swiped a second bite from a sample display case?  Maybe a third if the attendant’s back was turned?  Try five.  (Thanks for distracting the attendant, Sweetie.)  I was tempted to grab the whole tray and sprint out the door, but all the moaning and groaning I had done over the previous five minutes had garnered too much attention to make that option viable.  And there was no sense in taking it on the lam since I was pretty sure somebody had already called security to tend to the perv in the meat section.

When we left the store, we were headed out of town for the weekend, so we didn’t actually purchase any of the treat that day.  But a couple of weeks later, Julie picked up a package for Sunday breakfast.


Fire-Roasted Bacon almost defies description.   Think of the best glazed holiday ham you’ve ever eaten.   Then think about cutting off, in bacon-slice-sized strips, just the outermost layer of the ham.  Now you have the general idea.

If it’s prepared properly (bake for best results), sections of each strip will be crunchy, others chewy.   The sweetness of the glaze contrasts beautifully with the saltiness of the bacon.

It’s obscenely delicious.

Sweet-salty-crunchy-chewy pork.  What could be better?

We’ve had this delicacy one other time since then.  Same results.  Same sounds drifting through the ceiling.  (I don’t think the upstairs neighbor was home that day.)

This is going to be an occasional treat for us.  It’s not something I’d want to eat every day, or every week for that matter.  I don’t know the nutritional information for this product.  And to be candid, I don’t want to know.

To any reader attempting to post nutritional information in the comments section of this post:  Your comments will be deleted unread.  Just let me enjoy this one in blissful ignorance, OK?

(Ed. Note: Apparently the Fire-Roasted bacon is all made locally, but I think I’m going to have to try to duplicate it.  It’s got to be easy.  If readers have any tips, let us know!)

(Ed. Note part 2: This is the same sound he makes when eating really well prepared foie gras. Or a Terry’s Turf Club burger.  Or an excellent steak.)