B L M, Aussie Context

I’ve been asleep.

On waking all I could think of was my favourite brekky food, lettuce tomato and scrummy bacon, on a toasted bun.

Slowly grilling a soft fresh hamburger bun, I waited patiently with the creamy butter scrapped onto the knife ready to slather into the crisp brown toastiness.

Once the butter had melted then oozed into the bun bottom, I sprinkled a little garlic salt and pepper, then heaped on shredded lettuce all over the bun base.

The fatty bacon had just sizzled through in the frypan, the crinkled crispy edges wrinkled enough to let me pick up each piece gingerly and rest it on a rack to fat off.

Once fatted off, I slipped several rashers onto the lettuce ready for the final topping, tomato.

I reached over to the fridge, looked down into the crisper, then onto the racks.

Fuck no tomato! I looked everywhere, not a skerrick to be seen.

All I could see were those drunken little shaped Kewpie bottles, Dijon and seeded mustard.

I reached for the kewpie, flipped the lid and squirted a criss-cross weave of mayo over the bacon before closing off with the top bun.

Scrunch,

bacon,

lettuce

mayo,

the perfect BLM,

and it was all over the news!