A proper BLT was high on my list of “Ten Foods I Refuse to Give Up” when I was diagnosed diabetic. To me, it’s the sandwich made in heaven. Every part of it is necessary, blends and harmonizes with the rest, like the instruments in a chamber quartet, to form artistic perfection. There is no such thing as a bad BLT, but there IS such a thing as a proper one.
It starts with the toast, well-done toast firm enough to stand up to fatty, juicy goodness and not get soggy. My preference is a light wheat, but I’ll accept white or whole grain. My homemade bread makes a fine BLT, except of course for fruit bread.
Then the mayo… or, as I prefer, the light, sweetish taste of Miracle Whip. Mayo’s fattiness competes with the fattiness of the bacon, and let’s admit it, bacon is THE food. Any dish it’s in, it steals the show. If I must use real mayo, only a light smear, please. Miracle Whip I slather on with a trowel.
Next in construction, the lettuce. As with most sandwiches, I go for the All-American standard of iceberg. I like the crisp, light texture, subtle flavour, and non-chewiness of it. The leafy lettuce currently in vogue for sandwiches I find too assertive in taste, and somehow it is limp and tough simultaneously.
I only make BLT’s in the summer. Why? Because they lack that taste-explosion-in-the-mouth unless made with fresh garden tomatoes. It borders on heresy, but to me, a good tomato is the co-star of the BLT production along with the bacon. The tasteless hothouse or imported types available in winter may add colour to a salad, but never flavour; and give nothing at all to a sandwich. Best of all for a BLT is a nice, juicy, homegrown Super Steak or Big Boy, the kind you can carve a single thick slice from and have it protrude beyond the edge of the bread. But I’ll take two slices, please, dripping with juicy, home-grown, grab the tongue and assault the taste buds flavour.
Now, pile on the bacon! Real pork bacon, definitely NOT turkey, cooked crisp, never hard (which eliminates thick-cut bacon as an ingredient), well-drained, nice and hot. Although Weight Watchers and my doctor do not approve, bacon is the star of this show. Pile it high. Add the top slice of bread, cut if you wish (on the diagonal is the classic method), and dig in. Be sure to have more than one napkin on hand. This is meant to be a messy sandwich, enjoyed as much tactilely as by taste. And abandon table manners during the BLT experience. Dab up dropped bacon crumbs with a finger, lick tomato juices off your hands… heck, lick the plate if you want to!
I’ll be the first to admit that the above instructions reflect my personal opinions. After all comfort food is a very, very personal thing. I revealed none of this to my psychologist, during the time I was using one’s services. I could talk about my job, my ex, my health problems, my fears, but not comfort food. The stomach is too close to the heart.
