Showing up for something like Bacon Fest completely sober (hungover) may not have been my best idea, especially when it means abandoning my cool-kid time-code and showing up to the Union at the crack of 10pm. But after a few hours of bacon, boobies and bands, I found myself with whiskey in hand, appreciating the spectacle.
The night started with a contest for the best bacon-inspired food, which became more of a sexed-out, greasy pep rally for all things pig. Boxcar Burlesque’s Dolly Derringer hosted the festivities, dread-locked, long-lashed and oozing with the kind of sexiness usually reserved for female drummers, bartenders and tattoo artists. Her judges—a mohawk, an ironic mullet and a fake pig nose—braved through dozens of bacon dishes submitted by audience members. There was bacon-stuffed, deep-fried deviled eggs, bacon meatloaf, bacon jam, bacon doughnuts, bacon ice cream, bacon pie, bacon cake, bacon baklava, bacon toffee and more. The judges picked their favorites, and the winners received adorable, homemade pig trophies. I appreciate a good theme, but this part of the night just dragged, probably because it can’t be all that easy to rehearse and time an unprecedented bacon extravaganza. Or maybe I should have been drunk.