There’s an evolutionary explanation, apparently. In short, back in the days of roaming nude around the savannah (we’ve all been there, face it), fat and salt (and sugar) were hard to come across but absolutely vital to our survival. The most useful trait to have was to absolutely lust after these things, so that every single opportunity to partake was taken.
So those that weren’t greedy for it died out, and natural selection left us with an indescribable lust for bacon.
(Incidentally, contrary to popular misconception, it is possible to override the lust for bacon. I used to spend days debating the precise level of crispiness of bacon required for the ultimate bacon sandwich. I’m actually pretty sure that by the time I went vegetarian I could make the best bacon sandwiches the world has ever seen. The trick is to not use too much oil, so that you can then brown the bread of the sandwich in the meat juice. This means you get enough flavour to not bother with a sauce, thus leaving you with the most baconny sandwich possible. I also favour a borderline crispiness, right on the edge of genuinely crispy. Anyway, despite this apocalyptic knowledge of bacon sarnie perfection, I don’t miss bacon sandwiches at all. I’ve just written that paragraph and explored my memories of all the greatest sandwiches I’ve eaten . The fact remains that I am still more excited about the banana beside me. Vegetarianism is possible for anyone. Though I did go through at least a year of sniffing people’s bacon.)
The weirdest thing about the love for friedness, is that texturally, it tends to be quite vile. I still regularly get a massive craving for pizza, and if I’m even a little depressed, I cave in quite quickly. But as I eat my excessively cheese-laden expression of unhappiness, my mouth just becomes a morrass of vile greaseness.
Have you ever looked at the amount of translucent yellow liquid pouring out of a piece of cheese on toast and thought about the fact that all that fat is present in that grease is always present in your cheese sandwich. Just because the creaminess is still there, doesn’t mean that you aren’t slathering your interior with a thick layer of gelatinous unsexy.
Ridiculously, that paragraph makes me want cheese on toast more than the bacon worship made me want a bacon sarnie. I’m still settling for a banana and some porridge for breakfast. (I managed to find a local source of oat milk, which means it’s possible for me to have DOUBLE PORRIDGE, with oats stewed in oat milk…it’s literally the oatiest breakfast that is possible…except maybe if you used flapjacks to scoop it into your mouth….hmmmm).
So yeah. Grease is weirdly sexy. I don’t know if I buy into the evolutionary argument though. I just think the nutritional influence of fried food on a hangover means that we associate it with making bad things go away.
That makes more sense to me.
Illustrated by Anna-Kaisa.