Wednesday was the day. The day I had been building up to all of my life, all of the preparations were in place, all of the hard work complete, my patience at last rewarded, it was time to enjoy the fruits of my labors.
As some of you know, I live with my wife on a small ‘hobby’ farm in SE Wisconsin. I have been an avid gardener for years, last year we raised a couple of pigs on pasture behind the barn. I saved one package of bacon in the freezer from last year’s pig for just this moment.
I calibrated the toaster with a few 'test slices" so that the toast would be the perfect tawny amber, a hearty crunch, but with a little ‘give’ to the center of the bread.
I walked up to the garden and selected a beautifully ripe Brandywine tomato, an heirloom variety with deep burgundy flesh, and nearly large enough for a single slice to cover the sandwich. It seemed heavy for it’s size, an indication that it was at the peak of it’s flavor. A small head of Buttercrunch lettuce, bright green against the faded gold of the straw mulch, joined the tomato on our trip back to the kitchen.
The bacon was laid cold into a cast iron skillet, and carefully monitored while cooking to perfection. It’s double-smoked aroma filled the kitchen.
It was time. I assembled the ingredients, gave the sandwich a quick slice on the diagonal and dove in.
Utter bliss permeated every cell of my body as I savored this sandwich, the most incredible combination of flavors known to man, and knew that each of it’s principal ingredients came from within 300 yards of where I sat.