Thursday, March 27, 2008
Fresh Market moment
Not fully, though; he thinks the olives with pimentos are the pig's actual eyes until I correct him. I hold my breath, wondering if this is the end of pork consumption for him, one of his few meats.
"So that's made of pig? Killed pig?" he asks again, making sure he understands.
"Yes." I search my brain desperately. We can't lose ham, the one main dish everyone in the house will eat. Can't. I have my own flash.
"Bacon!" I exclaim cheerfully. "Bacon, too! Killed pig! Yes, indeedy!"
The man behind the counter whips his head around and stares at me in disbelief, openly, unabashedly.
"Bacon," the youngest says dreamily, the way one says the name of an old friend, a comforting friend. "They have bacon here?"
"We have some at home. C'mon."
I move the youngest off, away from the staring pimentos, away from the staring meat man, toward home and bacon.