I love Sunday breakfasts. I remember Dad’s super-greasy bacon and eggs every Sunday morning. The kitchen was usually pretty smokey when he fried up the bacon. We ate in shifts, and Dad just kept it coming until we couldn’t possibly eat anything more, then he’d banish us to the outdoors to burn it off.
Craving some grease without setting off the smoke detector, I fired up the side burner on the BBQ and brought out the cast iron frying pan.
Things always taste better when they're cooked outside.
Maybe its just me, but every time I fry bacon and eggs outside it reminds me of camping. Like Sharylin says, ‘Things always cook better over an open flame.’