Guest column: If loving bacon is wrong, I don’t want to be right

From time to time, I let other people get in on my Virtual Memories. Today, official VM girlfriend Amy has something to say:

I’m not naming names, but a certain scrawny-ass blogger accuses me of chubby-chasing because of my laissez-faire attitude toward (or encouragement of) unhealthy eating habits. It’s true; I don’t care about a few pounds here and there (keep in mind that she’s 5’4″ and about 110�ed.). A low-pitched fatty grunt doesn’t necessarily put me off. And perhaps I do find voracity appealing, as it indicates an expansive passion for life, a juiciness I gravitate to in other people.

But honestly, it’s an unfair accusation! I realized today that, as I come from a typically wide-bodied south Louisiana family, nature AND nurture are conspiring against me. Check out this article.

I really shouldn’t be surprised by the stuffed deep-fried burger, I guess. My people start spaghetti sauce with a roux, fry turkey, and bacon up everything short of dessert while dishing recipes the way others discuss Michael Moore’s shading or all things Olsen.

I’ve gotten wonderful cooking tips from the men at the gun range and even once kept an ex-boyfriend around long enough after breaking up to coax a secret family recipe from him. Heartless? Sure. Proud of it? Not especially. But it’s the best steak marinade YOU’LL ever try. (Holymotherofgod . . . A STUFFED DEEP-FRIED BURGER?!)

Ahem.

Sure, I understand the perils of an immoderate lifestyle: diabetes, heart disease, celibacy. But you know what? This still sounds like a good idea to me.

—Amy