I first tried bacon when I was 22. Years and years of build-up, lusting, wanting, yearning, apprehension, curiosity, temptation, envy...for this? Wow. What an underwhelming page of my brief earthly encounter. We might as well file this uneventful chapter under a misc. label, tucked away deep within the appendices of the book of my life. For those of you lucky enough to still reside in the bacon abstinence party (oh how I long for those simpler days), let me elaborate on my first impressions of this overrated cured concoction. It’s like strawberry sour straps if MTV’s Punk’d lurked behind the camera of a faux car accident designed to scare the living daylight out of you. It’s most definitely not the teeth-tickling, cavity-creating, faultlessly-manufactured, strawberry-flavored candy that makes your saliva flow over your warm tongue with that classic sweet-and-sour balance. What it actually is? Eerily edible-looking. I assure you, it’s not. The experience was underwhelming at best. Uncomfortably chewy. Salty in a way that makes your kidneys shrivel up. Heavy enough for your liver to let out a high-pitched shriek as it stores yet another unnecessary fat cell into your body. Topped with a surreptitiously obscene level of mammalian grease coating your mouth and lingering inside your throat for hours after the traumatic episode.