The third game in the 2015 World Series will begin Friday night. Although riveting, watching the Mets and Royals duke it out wouldn’t be complete without some quality snacks. Viewers should indulge in a quality hotdog while the fanfare unravels.
Much to my dismay, these famed ballpark dogs have recently been slandered and denounced in the World Health Organization’s cancer report. The WHO categorized processed meats, of all things, in Category 1, side-by-side with tobacco and rotting asbestos. The report stated bacon, hot dogs and your grandmother’s delicious honey ham can cause bouts of colon cancer.
Before I got ahead of myself, I took a look at the facts. According to the New York Times, “a person’s risk of colorectal cancer rises by a factor of about 1.1 or 1.2 for every serving of processed meat consumed per day.” In reality, this isn’t a huge number — lung cancer rises by a factor of 20 for those who smoke.
Even so, Oscar Mayer is probably crying on Nathan’s Famous’ shoulder. The phrase “don’t go bacon my heart” has never been more applicable. Just a few weeks ago, I was finding love on an app for bacon lovers called “Sizzl,” and now I’m shedding tears for all of the uncooked, dejected bacon that will never be fried by over-concerned mothers. Love is dead.
A few years ago, I remember my health-conscious mother telling me not to put butter on my movie theater popcorn because it causes cancer. Did I deny myself true buttery indulgence? Of course not.
In February 2013 I tweeted, “I just witnessed a guy at the movie theater treat the butter machine like a water fountain. Dude they’re NOT the same #gross.” This is about the same time when I lost all faith in humanity.
It’s these situations that make me wonder if all of the scientific research on health is blown out of proportion. I completely understand why drinking butter or consuming mass amounts of bacon cheeseburgers could lead to health problems down the road. But what about a few slices every now and then?
Redundant, but true, the saying “everything in moderation” is probably what we need. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can withhold myself from my second serving of bacon at an unlimited brunch buffet. Restraint is easier said than done.
Honestly, I feel that life without bacon is a life not worth living. When I die, I will die young, my demise being owed to none other than the saturated bottle of bacon grease that sits next to my sink.
When my grandpa, Sam, finishes a satisfactory meal, he says, “This stuff will kill you, but what a way to go.” He’s doing great, although he checks the newspaper obituary every day to make sure his name isn’t there. Ninety-three years of age will do that to you.
Imagine if someone told you Chipotle causes an increased chance of cancer. What would you do?
jlkarl@indiana.edu
@jkarl26
