Every time I fry bacon – every time – I remember Daddy in the kitchen with 6 or 8 slices of bacon in an old cast iron skillet. He would let the bacon settle in the hot skillet, separate the slices, tend to another task, then come back as the bacon was beginning to curl and flip it. He never flipped just one strip of bacon. He would slide an ordinary fork beneath at least 4 strips of bacon, lift and flip them all at once and they laid out perfectly. Then he repeated the process with the remaining strips. Four at a time – and the bacon behaved as if it had been trained and commanded.
Each time I fry bacon, I attempt his flipping technique – usually with only two strips. I end up with one piece of bacon wrapped around the other and twisted like a stick of licorice.
I don’t know how he did it. He was simply a master in the kitchen. His bacon – and everything else he cooked – turned out perfectly.
Frying bacon certainly brings wonderful smells into the kitchen – and cherished memories to the heart.
