Bacon bloody marys bring Sunday morning sufferers back to life.
National Mechanics’ (22 S. Third St. 215.701.4883. nationalmechanics.com) desecrated-cathedral look is never as convincing as on Sunday mornings, when the Old City bar’s 19th-century stone staircase is besieged by hungover zombies and vamps. Fortunately, this asylum specializes in blood transfusions of the vodka variety, most notably the house-infused bacon version.
It’s the first step in National Mechanics’ popular DIY Bloody Mary Bar—and the first move in your return to the realm of the living. National Mechanics stocks all the expected brands of vodka—and tequila for Bloody Marias—but try the bacon. Your gut will thank you, as the food takes so long—recently, two hours for eggs and scrapple—it’s likely this will be your only sustenance for a while.
Choose from several rimmers (including Bacon Salt) and a pint glass will arrive filled two-thirds of the way with bacon-scented eau-de-vie and a celery stalk and Slim Jim poking out like topless umbrellas. Carafes of tomato juice, chunky horseradish and a 50-deep display of crusty-capped condiments await at the altar-like bar: Sriracha. Bourbon barrel-aged Worcestershire. More Bacon Salt. Tinkering with the vials and tinctures, especially in this setting—insect specimens on the walls, creepy clowns and magicians on the website—makes you feel like some vaudevillian voodoo priest.
It’s fitting. This pork fat-infused meal replacement will leave you thinking something new about last night’s mistake. Hmm, does death become her?
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Growing up Muslim in America has its temptations. Of the rules ripe for breaking, there is none less enticing than indulging in the forbidden pork. But it took just one prosciutto-wrapped melon slice for me to never look back.
if you want to dress it up Back in 2008, then-Sen. Obama caused a flap when he compared John McCain’s presidential campaign to “lipstick on a pig.” Feisty liberals shuddered with pleasure and Sarah Palin, as usual, looked confused. Let us be clear, pigs don’t need no gussying up! They’re beautiful and tasty creatures just as God made them but if you must play dress-up, stick to just a few modest accessories. Apple Cider It’s amazing to think that the Mennonite and Amish lifestyle, after so many years as the butt of bad jokes (see Weird Al’s “Amish Paradise”), is now somehow hip. Organic farming practices, locally sourced products and kick-ass beards are all the rage in Philly. The next time you’re in the mood for pork chops, grab a quart of Kauffman’s freshly pressed preservative-free apple cider from Lancaster County Dairy (51...
More than 20 years ago, the National Pork Board started pushing the leanest, cleanest parts of its little piggies with the slogan, “Pork. The Other White Meat,” and the American people—including my mother—totally bought it. And then, for almost the next 20 years, most of us—you, me, our mothers, omnivores all over the country—dutifully ate our tenderloins and center loin chops. They tasted only mildly of pork and had the texture and chewiness of dishtowels, but dammit, they lived up to the slogan and we felt good about eating them. Only, I didn’t. I was unsatisfied and confused. How could the pork we ate for breakfast—crunchy-tender, salty, smoky, juicy, soul-satisfying bacon—be so different from the bland, tough, utilitarian pork we ate for dinner and still come from the same animal? I longed for something more. I wanted bacon—or at least the magical je ne sais quoi of bacon—every time I ate pork. It wasn’t until I was more or less grown up that I would discover—at a...
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