Somehow, this goes from bargains to bacon with a little French thrown in for kicks.

2 Mar

I’m not a shopaholic by traditional standards. Anyone who has seen my wardrobe will gladly vouch for that.

But I *am* a bargain hunter, so the whole online coupon thing has turned into something of an addiction for me. I subscribe to Groupon, LivingSocial, Homerun and Greenbacks. I’ve bought at least one deal through each of those sites, and multiple deals from multiple cities for Groupon and Living Social.

If you’re not familiar with them, the premise is this: you spend a certain amount of money to get a specific deal (generally twice the value of what you’ve spent). You’re essentially pre-paying to get yourself a 50% discount. The catch is that you have to use your deal before it expires (generally 6-12 months) or the vendor gets your money and you get nothing.

In addition to trying over a dozen restaurants this way, I’ve also purchased:

  • A store credit at French boutique
  • An intro pottery class
  • A helicopter tour of Chicago
  • An Executive Suite at the Wyndham Chicago
  • Yoga classes
  • Massages
  • Amazon gift cards
  • A credit at a wine shop
  • Cupcakes

I’ve tried so many yoga studios in DC this way, I could probably write an educated article reviewing them for Yoga Journal.

Anyway, the deal that has me WILDLY excited (to the point that it’s why I even started this post) is a six month membership to Arganica. Argani-wha?

Arganica is a local company that delivers fresh local or organic products to your door once a week. In addition to produce, dairy and meat, they have found local suppliers who make things like potato chips, wine, dried fruit, etc. It’s a great way to eat locally AND stop from going into withdrawal when the Farmer’s Market is out of season.

My first delivery should come tomorrow and I can’t wait. In addition to a produce box of whatever veggies are in season, my order includes a pork tenderloin, ground beef, a bag of homemade granola, fresh basil and cilantro, and – the item I’m most excited about – a slab of bacon!

And when I say slab, I mean it comes uncut as a solid hunk so you can carve it to your own specifications. Having lived in France for a year, I’ll tell you exactly what that means to me: LARDONS!

If you don’t know what lardons are, you are missing out. They are fat rectangles of bacon the approximate shape of french fries. Among other uses, they’re great for making a true Salad Paysanne.

When I lived in France, I fried lardons pretty much every day like clockwork, often with my windows open if the weather was nice. One day, just as I sat down to lunch, my phone rang. That was something of an event itself – since I was renting the place for the month, I didn’t know the phone number and had never actually received a call.

Thus I was perplexed as I lifted the received. “Bonjour?” I asked cautiously.

“Bonjour!” the other voice – belonging to an older woman – responded.

And then she proceeded to go on a tirade about something. I couldn’t keep up with her (my French comprehension relied heavily on body language and pantomiming) so I grasped desperately to pick out any word I might recognize.

I had no idea who she was or why she was calling, so I probably should’ve started with, “Who are you?” But since I picked out “lardon,” in her monologue, I seized on it.

“Excuse me,” I asked in French, “Do you have a question about my lardons?”

She paused. And then proceeded to answer with something (as best I could understand) along the lines of, “Yes, your lardons, you idiot. Pig, pig, pig. You love the pig.” It was a few sentences longer than this, but then she abruptly said, “D’accord? Au revoir,” and hung up.

I stepped out on my balcony and looked both up and down, wondering if she was a tenant of the building, out on her balcony, hating the smell of my bacon wafting up at her. Alas, I saw no one.

To this day, I have no idea what her problem with my pork was. Did she like it? Was she curious about why I was cooking it? Did she want to borrow some? I have no clue.

Or maybe she was a cranky old French woman who loved prank calls as much as I love bacon.

C’est possible!

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6 Responses to “Somehow, this goes from bargains to bacon with a little French thrown in for kicks.”

  1. Alicia March 4, 2011 at 11:01 am #

    I never heard this one. I like it.

    When I first saw “Lardon” in your post, I thought it was like a hard-on, but you get it for bacon. Shwing.

  2. Hoyt March 4, 2011 at 2:36 pm #

    For some strange reason, the funniest part of your post is “D’Accord? Au revoir.” I don’t know why, but I literally LOL

    • pithypants March 5, 2011 at 7:05 pm #

      Glad you appreciated that… it was the craziest thing. Not like she wanted to have a conversation, just give me a piece of her mind then peace out really fast.

  3. Lucas March 5, 2011 at 8:23 pm #

    First off, I will now be purchasing a slab of bacon. Second, she was an angry old Jewish lady. It’s like taking a mormon boy to the red light district of Amsterdam. Pure. Torture.

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. I think I might explode. « pithypants - March 9, 2011

    […] I hacked the pound into “lardons” (see THIS for an explanation if – like my sister – you think a lardon is a hard-on caused by […]

  2. I only parlez-français when it comes to champignons. « pithypants - November 2, 2011

    […] that wouldn’t have done me any good, because my next apartment did have a land line. And THIS is what happened during that phone call. (Oink, […]

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