The hoops I’m jumping through to try to purchase some duck bacon have hit ridiculous levels. I bit the bullet and decided to just order some fucking duck bacon from D’Artagnan, figuring I would buy it in bulk and only pay the ridiculous shipping cost once (ideally). I won’t say how much the total came to, because it was NAUSEATING. And then when the time came to pay, I discovered that, for whatever reason, D’Artagnan WON’T ACCEPT EITHER OF MY CARDS.
So now, what do you do when the psychopathic celebrity you’re taking instructions from demands you cook multiple recipes involving a highly specific and rare ingredient that can basically only be found through one company, except that company has decided your bank is not important enough to accept payments from?
I am at a loss. And today, I am hating Gwyneth probably more than I ever have. Who in their right mind authors a cookbook with DUCK BACON, an ingredient almost no one has fucking heard of, as one of the most-used ingredients in the book? It’s just ridiculous. I’ve hit the lowest point of the Project thus far. The duck bacon hunt continues, but not today because I need a fucking break.
This concludes my crankiest blog post yet.