I’ve decided that one of my new life rules is to avoid eating any foods that have catastrophic names. That means that steak bombs … are out. Dairy Queen Blizzards … are out. Molten chocolate cake … is possibly out. I mean, the sheer amount of delicious, delicious chocolate should probably give it a pass. Plus, metal is molten and there’s nothing disastrous about that.
Lava on the other hand…
But I digress. A lot. This is what happens when you write up a blog post while anxiously waiting for Kristian to finish dinner (I offered to help! I swear! He felt bad about the three hours that I spent commuting today! He’s just nice like that! I’m not really dead weight in the cooking department! I swear!).
So, if disastrous foods are out, that certainly eliminates the Bacon Explosion . Which would probably be eliminated by my cardiologist. If I had a cardiologist. Which I don’t. Because I’m only 27 years old. And I don’t eat things like the Bacon Explosion.
Oh, yes, the Bacon Explosion. Bacon wrapped in sausage. Wrapped in more bacon. Covered in BBQ sauce. Admittedly, it sounds rather tasty. Tasty like a heart attack.
A tasty, tasty heart attack.