Orangey Bacon Sandwich Surprisingly Enjoyable

I have the shame: I am ashamed to admit that I read the weekend WSJ magazine, WSJ. The whole thing. Yes, even the couture piece. Yes, even the many articles about watches. And, yes, even the Sophie Dahl, uh, charticle. So, yes, I have the shame. But I also have a recipe.

“The smells from my grandfather’s books are tied to certain images,” writes Roald’s model/author granddaughter. “When I used to stay over-this is before I was a non-meat-eater-I’d wake up to the aroma of his bacon-and-marmalade sandwiches.”

As you know, I have trying to unravel the mystery of marmalade — i.e., how in the world can anyone enjoy it — for weeks now, and this seemed just intriguing enough that it might yield some answers. A quick Google search revealed that this is, in fact, a thing, and not just one of Roald Dahl’s grotesque creations. Apparently they serve it for brunch at Prune, but I don’t do brunch and even if I did I wouldn’t spend two hours staring at Houston Street just for the privilege. (Sure, Prune is an excellent restaurant. But that is time I could be working on my weekend drinking.) Anyway, I went with the ingredients I had at hand. It was pretty simple.

Take your bread (you’re going to want something relatively thick here; I went with a salt bagel, because God knows I need more sodium in my life) and butter it. Then smear some marmalade on it. (I would recommend a thin-cut marmalade, because the idea of thick pieces of orange rind makes me want to floss my teeth with a folded-up magazine subscription card until the gums bleed.) Toast for about 3 and a half minutes, until the butter is bubbling up and the jam is gooey, and your crumb tray is like, “Oh, yeah, motherfucker, you WILL clean me this time.” Meanwhile, take 4–6 (who am I kidding, 6) slices of thick bacon, double-smoked if possible (yes, this is what I usually have “at hand”), and cook ’em up in a pan to your desired level of crispness. (I went half crisp/half chewy, but I think it probably works whatever way you choose.) Drain on a paper towel, shove between the toasted pieces of bread, and Bob’s your cardiologist. You know what? It was pretty goddamn great. The foul bitterness that usually makes marmalade a laminal defoliant played extremely well with the other ingredients. Will cook again, if my heart allows. RELATED: Once I am literally as big as a house, what is the danger that I will be foreclosed on?