Not Makin' Bacon

Sometimes I do wear white after Labor Day.
My parents always, ALWAYS, reminded me that it was vitally important to start the day with a good breakfast; but now I hardly ever eat breakfast - except on Saturdays. 

The above two examples are telling of just what sort of rebel I have now become.

Bacon is big.  Bacon is just not for breakfast, BLT's and cheese burgers anymore.  There is a bacon flavored drink, there are bacon cup cakes and bacon covered chocolates.  Indeed bacon is everywhere (except maybe some synagogues - but I even wonder about what goes on behind closed kosher doors.  You never really know).  The allure of bacon is hard to deny.

But come one fine morning in April, a good Saturday morning at that, I laid out the strips of thick-cut pepper bacon on the broiler sheet, moved the oven rack up to the second-highest notch and set the stove top controls in anticipation of crispy bacon for me and the wife.  Nothin' doin'!  And then to my horror, I watched as the upper broiler element began to arc and spark, sizzle and then fizzle; then it was gone in a blaze of glory. 

Sherlock, why is our bacon not ready? 

My dear Watson, we are not makin' bacon,

but the solution is elemental.

The Iron skillet did an OK job as a back-up and has continued to do so over the past few Saturday mornings, but it is not my preference.  Now the broiler element has been detached from the oven, a process as simple as I had hoped.  On Monday I will visit the used appliance store on the end of Main Street and ask them if they "got one like this, only without the hole in it?"  My bet is they do.

After the reassembly of the faulty oven part using a handful of sheet metal screws, I will be in hog heaven next Saturday morning.