When I was a kid we didn't go on very many family holidays. Actually come to think of it, we didn’t really go anywhere. I was the youngest of six kids and I guess it’s hard to get that many people into a car for a road trip. And even if my dad had found a Combi with a Venter trailer, imagine the expense.
We didn’t get invited to other people’s houses much either. Perhaps nobody liked us, but I prefer to think adding eight mouths to the headcount before you’ve even invited anyone else to the party was our barrier to entry.
But I do remember three holidays spread out over my childhood. More specifically I remember the hotel breakfast buffets. We only had one family holiday breakfast rule; we ate separately. My siblings and I would all have breakfast together, and then later, my parents would have their own private breakfast while we were off breaking stuff or sniffing glue, or some other such reprobate behaviour. I always thought it was because they wanted some alone time; time to bond, and reconnect, fill up their love tank. I was wrong. When I was in my twenties I finally learnt that it was because they wanted to fill up their bacon tank.
You see we’re Jewish. We went to Synagogue on the high holy days and said our prayers. We didn’t keep kosher, but there was absolutely, categorically never pork or bacon allowed in our home.
But come holidays and even my parents couldn’t resist a couple of rashers of bacon with their breakfast. So we were banished to an earlier seating, so that they could eat their pig in peace, without the sticky, questioning, judgey pointed fingers of their kids to stop them.
And who can blame them? Those holiday breakfast buffets were my first taste of bacon too, and they ignited a love affair that has stretched well into my forties. Not one to ever be into diet fads (not that I couldn’t use them) I even fell for Banting and wrote a book about it. After all, surely any diet that allows all-you-can-eat bacon, has to be worth a try.
Paige Nick is the author of Death By Carbs and several other novels.
Photos: Alix-Rose Cowie
This article first appeared in issue 1 of Studio H’s food zine, CHIPS!
When I was a kid we didn't go on very many family holidays. Actually come to think of it, we didn’t really go anywhere. I was the youngest of six kids and I guess it’s hard to get that many people into a car for a road trip. And even if my dad had found a Combi with a Venter trailer, imagine the expense.
We didn’t get invited to other people’s houses much either. Perhaps nobody liked us, but I prefer to think adding eight mouths to the headcount before you’ve even invited anyone else to the party was our barrier to entry.
But I do remember three holidays spread out over my childhood. More specifically I remember the hotel breakfast buffets. We only had one family holiday breakfast rule; we ate separately. My siblings and I would all have breakfast together, and then later, my parents would have their own private breakfast while we were off breaking stuff or sniffing glue, or some other such reprobate behaviour. I always thought it was because they wanted some alone time; time to bond, and reconnect, fill up their love tank. I was wrong. When I was in my twenties I finally learnt that it was because they wanted to fill up their bacon tank.
You see we’re Jewish. We went to Synagogue on the high holy days and said our prayers. We didn’t keep kosher, but there was absolutely, categorically never pork or bacon allowed in our home.
But come holidays and even my parents couldn’t resist a couple of rashers of bacon with their breakfast. So we were banished to an earlier seating, so that they could eat their pig in peace, without the sticky, questioning, judgey pointed fingers of their kids to stop them.
And who can blame them? Those holiday breakfast buffets were my first taste of bacon too, and they ignited a love affair that has stretched well into my forties. Not one to ever be into diet fads (not that I couldn’t use them) I even fell for Banting and wrote a book about it. After all, surely any diet that allows all-you-can-eat bacon, has to be worth a try.
Paige Nick is the author of Death By Carbs and several other novels.
Photos: Alix-Rose Cowie
This article first appeared in issue 1 of Studio H’s food zine, CHIPS!
When I was a kid we didn't go on very many family holidays. Actually come to think of it, we didn’t really go anywhere. I was the youngest of six kids and I guess it’s hard to get that many people into a car for a road trip. And even if my dad had found a Combi with a Venter trailer, imagine the expense.
We didn’t get invited to other people’s houses much either. Perhaps nobody liked us, but I prefer to think adding eight mouths to the headcount before you’ve even invited anyone else to the party was our barrier to entry.
But I do remember three holidays spread out over my childhood. More specifically I remember the hotel breakfast buffets. We only had one family holiday breakfast rule; we ate separately. My siblings and I would all have breakfast together, and then later, my parents would have their own private breakfast while we were off breaking stuff or sniffing glue, or some other such reprobate behaviour. I always thought it was because they wanted some alone time; time to bond, and reconnect, fill up their love tank. I was wrong. When I was in my twenties I finally learnt that it was because they wanted to fill up their bacon tank.
You see we’re Jewish. We went to Synagogue on the high holy days and said our prayers. We didn’t keep kosher, but there was absolutely, categorically never pork or bacon allowed in our home.
But come holidays and even my parents couldn’t resist a couple of rashers of bacon with their breakfast. So we were banished to an earlier seating, so that they could eat their pig in peace, without the sticky, questioning, judgey pointed fingers of their kids to stop them.
And who can blame them? Those holiday breakfast buffets were my first taste of bacon too, and they ignited a love affair that has stretched well into my forties. Not one to ever be into diet fads (not that I couldn’t use them) I even fell for Banting and wrote a book about it. After all, surely any diet that allows all-you-can-eat bacon, has to be worth a try.
Paige Nick is the author of Death By Carbs and several other novels.
Photos: Alix-Rose Cowie
This article first appeared in issue 1 of Studio H’s food zine, CHIPS!
