This morning Eric decided to make a full-scale breakfast. Complete with sausage, spinach and cheese omelets, biscuits and some of the best bacon I've ever had.
It was the perfect kind of crispy. Not too crunchy. Not too chewy.
After a few bites, I complimented him on his bacon preparation.
He claimed it really had nothing to do with his cooking skills and that it was more about what kind of bacon he had purchased.
I inquired about the brand name and he immediately refused me.
He turned from the stove to look at me. Shook his spatula in the air and said:
"I will never tell you about my secret bacon so that you will always need me for this perfect bacon."
I grinned. Was he serious?
"And that's what I like to call 'Bringing home the bacon,'" he concluded.
He whipped back around to attend to his sizzling strips.
What can I say? The crazy chef knows how to make a marriage work.