Of Prohibition, Passion, and Persecution

Alas, I have not been writing as much as I ought. The good news is, however, that in the time I have not been writing I have been gorging and binging. And as is my want my go-to items are pork and beer. Fortunately, like a pot smoking sex fiend seeks out Amsterdam, I knew where I could find my rock bottom: Canada. (I hope you will forgive my e-absence as Canada has no internet.)

I understand however the fine line between a bender and a problem – I swear I do – and I had my moment of clarity once safely back in smoldering L.A. Staggering through Silverlake desperately seeking a Canadian-style fix I ran into this:



In my hung-over, maudlin, and sodium-filled state my initial thoughts dealt with the circularity of nature, the beauty found in simplicity, and the general samsara of both life and my hangovers. Then my teary eyes turned to the sign adjacent the “piece.” Could the “Ring Festival L.A,” be massive-scale hipster-backed boosterism for the NuvaRing; the illuminated sculpture hypnotizing them as they ride by on fixies; unprotected sex and carefree STD transfers without wasting tattoo money on some kid; a bold rejoinder to the ubiquitous “Stay Negative” billboards? No such luck. Once I visited the artist’s website I saw that, in fact, the thing just symbolized all that other meaningful shit plus some overpriced tickets to Wagner. No go on the raw sex.

Speaking of people who like it raw, this article in our local rag speaks to issues I hold near and dear, namely illegal products, sanitary conditions, and food. Basically, “the man” is cracking down on folks who are selling illegal cheese to other folks who like eating illegal cheese. I particularly like the thoroughgoing vision:



I suppose if we eradicate quisillo we’ll have more time to worry about peanuts, peppers, spinach, toys, dog food, tomatoes, ground beef, and swine flu. Or, if we really felt daring we could connect the crackdown to longstanding fears of what non-white-folks eat (groups to think of, think about, or think into: Chinese, Blacks, Jews, and yes Mexicans.) But this blog is not the space for such heady downers. Rather, let’s just picture the cast of characters in an 80s comedy where Don Kass, deputy city attorney, hell-bent on success, tries to destroy the mom and pop shop life blood of an East LA community. Comedy, hijinks, a little racism, food, we gotta hit.

Honestly I felt a real connection to the folks in the article as I too was (and will be for some time) in possession of illegal foodstuffs – of a sort. You see the trip to Canada was not simply for Molson inspired reverie. No, it was also an opportunity to smuggle across the border massive amounts of locally cured, uncut, rind-on Canadian bacon:


(note my diminutive hand emphasizing size)

Yes, like a wily coyote I slinked into this country with 30 lbs (above picture x 4) of the best bacon around. Not only that but I also brought 15 lbs of Peameal Bacon, a product so rare, so Canadian, so packed with briny tenderloiny goodness that it cannot even be found on Wikipedia:





Like the Ring Cycle or the circle of a NuvaRing, peameal bacon has no end, nor can it be found in the “Family Planning” section of the Sunset and Western CVS; its pleasure lies in its never being seen, its passion rooted deep within your body.