This eight-year reign of awesomeness is over.
Every other Sunday I reward my taste buds with seven strips of bacon. I look forward to this ritual of destroying my arteries. It’s good fun and a great way to start a Sunday feeling amazing and terrible at the same time.
I believe in my appliances. I like to exercise their ability to do things they were never meant to do. Stretch their mechanical muscles. I routinely put whole rotisserie chicken carcasses in my garbage disposal. This goes against good judgment and common sense. But I’ve conditioned the disposal and now it can take down a full chicken in about thirty seconds. I even made a video and put it up on YouTube. I believe in my appliances.
In this same vein I put fully dripping grease pans directly into the dishwasher.
First, let’s talk about tinfoil. Sure it helps with the mess, but I have a totally unfounded belief that it cripples the bacon’s ability to perfectly crisp. I don’t like it, and I don’t use it. I can appreciate that you flip foil up on the edges to catch all the grease. That’s a good thing – if you’re a total pussy who’s afraid of getting grease on a five dollar baking sheet, that is.
Me, I take the bacon, defrost it, and carefully lay the strips directly on the pan bottom. I’m not afraid. If it burns a permanent mark into the aluminum, I can handle it.
About two years ago I realized I had completely destroyed the bottom tray in my toaster oven because I put food directly on the rack without tinfoil. I went online to see how much a new bottom was going for – $7 with free shipping. I ordered three and sullied forth.
I have these SOS pads under my sink that must be from 1998. I’ve never used them. I’m not into digging around to remove every black speck that’s stuck to my pots and pans. It seems like way too much work plus the texture totally freaks me out. I can’t even handle cotton balls, much less it’s tougher big brother, steel wool.
I cook the bacon in the oven, remove them from the pan and then place the whole burned, greasy mess into the dishwasher. No fumbling around in the garbage for a discarded can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew to catch the oil. My dishwasher can handle it.
Well, at least it could until this past weekend.
I was doing a normal clean after my fondue date and I noticed some disgusting yellow shit water at the bottom of the dishwasher. It wasn’t draining. I said a prayer to St. Joseph and ran a full cycle again. Nope. Then I ran it two more times over the next few hours. I’m sure I wasted some water, and I can understand how you don’t appreciate my conservation. I’m just being honest. Still wasn’t draining.
I thought, “Well, it’s been a good run. I regret nothing!” and reached for my plumber’s phone number. Before I called I decided to try to plunge the drain hole. I ran it once more. It drained.
I’m not 100% sure the line was clogged with bacon grease. Could have been any one of the foodstuffs that was attached to my plates. I don’t rinse before putting on the rack. I live on the edge. But I know it’s time to adjust my plans. You don’t come back from the dead twice. My dishwasher headed toward the light and God sent it back to me. I respect this.
I’m not sure exactly what to do next. Tinfoil? Soup can? Become a Muslim and disavow pork products?
Odds are that I’ll just start dumping future bacon grease directly into the garbage disposal. Go ahead and cringe and praise Allah that you’re not married to me.
