Bacon-wrapped dates will be my downfall

Bacon-wrapped dates will be my downfall

I am a foodie.

I think you know that by now. Pretty much every conversation I have ends up, at some point, being about food. It’s not that I am hungry all of the time. It’s more that I like talking about the marriage of interesting flavour combinations or how velvety a piece of cheese can feel in your mouth and the memories or reactions it can evoke.

I’m also a foodie who had weight loss surgery.

Which means I can only eat very small portions now and my tastebuds are developing new likes. It also means I haven’t gone out to dinner in a while. I was on a nasty pre-operation liquid diet (which was HELL) for a month prior to the surgery. Then I had to continue the liquid diet for ten days post-surgery. Well, at least I am able to eat solid food again, but my stomach can’t tolerate everything at the moment. It’s not easy, but the health benefits outweigh the cons.

Anyway, a few days ago, I had one of those memories evoked by food. It wasn’t because of something I ate. It was because of something I smelled–namely, bacon. Just the aroma of one of my neighbours making bacon took me back to Palma de Mallorca, Spain and sharing a plate of bacon-wrapped dates with my husband. If you’ve never had bacon-wrapped dates, it’s to die for. It’s probably not at all healthy, but it’s good for the soul.

The deliciousness that is bacon-wrapped dates.

We had this bit of deliciousness at a tapas bar called La Taperia, which if you’re ever in Palma you’ll find it on Carrer de Montenegro.  In Spanish, the dish is called Dátiles con bacon–at least, that’s what it’s called on their menu. Tord and I have been to Palma several times. Whenever we’re there, we end up having dinner at La Taperia at least three times during our stay and we always order the bacon-wrapped dates. And we can’t get enough of them. We vie for the last one, which we inevitably split and then we long to have it again.

We’ll probably go to Palma again to celebrate my husband’s birthday. He’s one of those lucky people whose birthday is celebrated during the summer. I am pretty sure we’ll end up sharing a bottle of wine and a plate of dátiles con bacon at La Taperia. And, considering the surgery I’ve recently had, tapas is great: small dishes that you can linger over and share. It’s a feast for the eyes that isn’t too heavy on the belly (as long as you don’t choose anything too rich).

The staff at La Taperia also make it a restaurant worth visiting. They are also foodies and when they describe the various tapas dishes on the menu, you can tell they are passionate about the food they create. You will never hear them say, “I don’t know. I haven’t tasted it.” They’ve tried everything and can tempt you with the most tantalising descriptions of the flavours and textures.

I’m pretty sure that bacon-wrapped dates will be my downfall. On my deathbed, I’ll be hoping that a plate of them will be waiting for me beyond the pearly gates, preferably with a glass of red wine. I should probably write sonnets about these dates, paint pictures of them and have them make an appearance in every book I write. But for now, I will content myself with knowing that the next time I am on the island of Mallorca, I can walk to Calle Montenegro and order a plate. I’ll even be nice and share it with Tord.

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