“Man, I would kill for a bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich. Can we get one?” asked Steve for the eighty seventh time, as we traveled through India, not a big BLT nation. We had traveled before and he would get these cravings for some crazy food and that was all he would talk about until he got some or you socked him in the head. I only had to do this once. While in Maine last summer on break we were in Acadia Island and he had to have a Coney. I threatened to drive to Detroit to shut him up, but instead bonked him on the head. We had decided to come to India and were now looking for any Jaipur hotels that would have us. And bacon sandwiches were on his feverish, Indian heated brain. “Hey, maybe on of those fancy British place will have them, d the British eat a lot of bacon?” I knew the British were pig friendly, but the BLT? Why not? Just then, the Canadian embassy came in to view. “Hey, let me off, I’m going to go ask the Canadian guys.” Steve later explained that since that was the nation that brought us Canadian bacon, they were bound to have a source. Off he went crossing the street and dodging the auto rickshaws, the fantastically decorated taxis, two skinny dogs, a lady selling umbrellas, and a guy on a bicycle push cart selling fresh coconut juice. I wanted to get to a nice Indian restaurant, my tender stomach recovering now, and we had been given the name of a vegetarian restaurant in the central city of Jaipur. He was gone for about twenty minutes and I began to worry when out he bounded down the street with a paper bag. the embassy had sold him two BLTs, and he was happy.
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