I have seen the future, and the future is bacon jam.

Ever since the delightful Miss Megan brought bacon jam to book club on Sunday, I have been literally unable to stop talking about it. I tell everyone I see. I am an evangelist. “Do you KNOW what I ate the other day?” I ask them, then pause dramatically before the big reveal. The pause is very important.

The problem with preaching the gospel of bacon jam is that the general public, thus far, has been less receptive than I had perhaps expected. Tom just kind of stared at me when I told him about it. My mom was all, “Bacon what?” And Sierra was ballsy enough to flat-out say it sounded revolting, and she is lucky we agree on every other topic under the sun (with the possible exception of Joseph Gordon Leavitt ) because frankly, that’s a dealbreaker, ladies.

Maybe the world at large just doesn’t share my particular enthusiasm for bacon, although I can’t imagine that is the case. Instead, I suspect the problem is that when you say “bacon jam,” (after the dramatic pause of course), people reflexively picture a jar of bright red Smuckers with some pork suspended in it.

THAT IS NOT WHAT BACON JAM IS.

There’s nothing gelatinous happening here. Honest. Instead, bacon jam is more like a tapenade–a spicy, salty, smoky, bacony delight that you spread on the vehicle of your choice along with (dramatic pause) guacamole, or peanut butter, or chocolate. Megan put it on a s’more. I tried it with some cheese dip. I am here to tell you, friends, that bacon jam just might be the dark-wash-skinny-jeans of the culinary world: it goes with everything.

World without end, amen.

(Recipe is here, at Homesick Texan. Go forth. Seriously.)