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Late summer, 1957, Mom was in the hospital, recovering from having my sister so my dad and I were "baching it". So far we had done pretty well in keeping the house clean and eating, but Dad's culinary skills were pretty much limited to frying burgers and bacon and eggs. Mom had a bumper crop of lettuce that year in her garden, but there's only so much of that you can eat. The decision was made to do some bacon sandwiches and wilted lettuce. Fry up the bacon, cut up some lettuce, radishes, and onions. Take the bacon grease, add some vinegar and sugar, pour that over the lettuce, radishes, and onions, viola -- wilted lettuce.
Summer in Hays, Kansas is hot, especially with no air conditioning. So I was down to only a pair of shorts and Dad was shirtless in his khaki pants. Frying the bacon went pretty well and there was plenty of grease. Dad added the sugar to the grease and there were some small pops as the crystals started to dissolve. Next came the vinegar. Either the grease was too hot or he poured the vinegar in too fast because disaster struck. A volcano erupted, sending a lava of the vinegar and grease mixture and molten chucks of sugar onto the walls, stove, and Dad's torso. "Jimeny Christmas!" he shouted, the worst expletive I ever heard my dad utter. The pan was flung out the back door, followed by the bowl of lettuce. Cooler heads prevailed before the bacon became airborne. Bacon is the candy of meat.
After things settled down, we began the massive cleanup of grease, sugar, vinegar, and assorted vegetables. When that was done, the bacon really didn't look all that appealing and the place still smelled of vinegar. The Papa Burgers and root beer at the A&W sure were good that night. And the next.
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