Shortly after assuming the surprise stewardship of a rejected Zingerman’s Bacon of the Month Club membership — which came after literally weeks of being forced under duress to eat, drink, and type for Pigs & Pours — I swelled to a girth far beyond healthy levels. (See above.)
Luckily, I got in touch with an Australian trainer who, through the magical powers of Google, whipped me back into fighting shape. But, alas, pork and booze had to take a brief hiatus.
So there was that.
Long overdue however is some official commentary on Zingerman’s BOTM Club, especially now that the Holidays are within spitting distance.
I will go into more detail in a second, but here’s all you really need to know: Nueske’s. Get it however you can. Online. At the grocery. In a dark alley, if need be. Whatever it takes. This is the Platonic ideal of bacon. Not to get too dreck-y, but every bite transports you to a crisp autumnal day, gathered around a cozy campfire with good friends, etc. Bottom line: This is among the best bacon you will ever shove into your greedy maw. (Sorry Benton’s, but we’ll always that time in St. George.)
The other bacons that arrived courtesy of Zingerman’s BOTM Club included a too-salty-even-for-a-salt-lover country bacon, and a perfectly serviceable pepper bacon from Arkansas.
As for Zingerman’s delivery and packaging theatrics, these Michiganders definitely get props. Hands down, they win for best mail-order customer service anywhere, ever. And the initial delivery is meant to wow typical recipients out of their daily home-work-bar-brothel routine with a nifty plastic folder embossed with a badass Bacon of the Month Club coat of arms. (Veni. Vidi. Voravi. “I came. I saw. I devoured.”)
Each delivery comes with a charming packet explaining the hog meat’s back story and is lovingly swaddled in a cleverly decorated foil packet stuffed with dry ice.
But Da-Yum, for what you get, that shit’s ‘spensive, yo. $100 for basically $30 (or less) of bacon. Put differently, if Mitt Romney reminds you of just one of the guys (or gals) at the local Country Club, then absolutely, knock yourself out and send a long-neglected relative — or 10 — the full six months of Zingerman’s BOTM Club.
If, on the other hand, you spend hours wondering whether you’re in the 47% or the 53%, just send a care package of Neuske’s Applewood Smoked instead. Perhaps include a DIY drawing of a goofy looking pig, preferably riding a motor cycle or toting an assault rife — something for maximum comedic/ironic effect.
And for that extra touch of class, you could always list your return address as Zangerman’s.
(*See “Graduate, The” )