I bought pork rinds this weekend.
Not a big ole 5 pound tub like the one above, but a regular sized bag. To some of you that might seem unremarkable, but I haven't bought pork rinds in forever.
Come on...they're deep fried pork skin. They're a bajillion calories of almost pure fatty, overly-salty, artery-clogging, crackling death.
God help me, I love 'em. I forget how much until I break down and buy a bag. Maybe it's the association with my growing-up years in a small town in the Southwest. They're comfort food. Crackly, greasy, redneck comfort food.
I am so ashamed.
So today I'm eating my roasted brussel sprouts with basalmic glaze and my homemade chicken piccata and trying to pretend that I didn't recently let my hillbilly genes take over and suck down a bag of pork rinds.
There are worse vices, I know. I don't smoke. I don't do drugs. I rarely drink. I don't put a stick or two of butter in everything I bake and I only occasionally eat red meat. Really, I'm pretty straitlaced.
My mother used to eat peanutbutter and Miracle Whip sandwiches. I ate them, too, but outgrew them. The thought makes me gag now, as does the way she made grilled cheese - also with Miracle Whip.
Yeah, there's nothing like biting into your processed orange Kraft American Cheese slice between two pieces of unnaturally soft white Wonder Bread and getting a mouthful of hot Miracle Whip.
That sounds dirty, but really, it's just nauseating.
Thank God my tastes are more refined now. Well, except for the occasional bag of crackly, salty death.
How about you? Do you have any shameful food vices?