BLTs, for the record
Today's Boston Globe Magazine has an article about the treatment of BLT's by restaurants in the Boston area. (It's not yet online as I write this.)
BLTs are very close to my heart. I grew up with them as a comfort food. I like bacon on things, as my friends will attest. Often, in my darkest moments, the thought of the gustatory pleasures of bacon-enhanced cuisine has sustained my soul and kept me from utter despair.
There are a million different ways to make a good BLT. You can use rye bread. Pumpernickel. Bulkie rolls. Challah. You can use Boston lettuce. Bib lettuce. Romaine. Iceberg. You can use plum tomatoes, beefsteaks, hell, you can even experiment with cherry tomatoes if you wish. You can slather it with mayo. You can use other condiments if that's your desire.
But you just don't fuck with the basic constituents of a BLT. It's a Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich. Bee. El. Tee. There are four basic components, if you include the bread. That's it.
And indeed, the beauty of the BLT is in its simplicity.
In how elegantly the individual flavors of the bacon, lettuce and tomato swirl together.
The crunch. The sweetness. The tanginess.
A well-made BLT is a gift from the gods, and it is not to be taken lightly. Much like a good cup of coffee. A bacon cheeseburger. New york cheesecake. A frosty mug of lager. These are simple pleasures, but they make life worth living. And that is why I take umbrage with the focus of the Boston Globe Magazine article, entitled Pimp My BLT.
One restaurant offers the BLT as an appetizer served as a disc of tomato, a wedge of iceberg lettuce, a tiny strip of bacon and a fried oyster (OYSTER, WTF) held together with a "dot of herb aioli" and "a minute amount of fried jasmine rice."
Another place serves a "PLT," substituting bacon with pancetta and serving arugula in place of lettuce, adding in a soft-shelled crab as well.
And yet another place offers lobster BLTs.
For the love of God, leave my poor BLT alone. Your nouvelle cuisine is not welcome here!