A few years ago, a couple friends and I decided we needed to try some Summerfield Farms bacon, bacon so good that the Grateful Palate was calling it the Chateau d'Yquem of pig. Now, I like Yquem (I got '01 Yquem instead of an engagement ring and was entirely okay with that) and I like pig, so it seemed like a logical decision.
Except that the Summerfield only came in 5-pound slabs that we'd have to split ourselves. Fine. Jonathan and I had it shipped to the office, then we split it into 5 equal pieces, and then wrapped those pieces in a layer of tinfoil, then a layer of plastic wrap. I put them in my purse, and we headed off to the bar where the handoff was taking place.
What I didn't realize was that this was the first week of random bag checks in the subway, and there I was, waltzing in with a bag full of 1-pound foil-wrapped bricks. Of course, that would be the day I got stopped. They look in at the foil-wrapped bricks, then look at me. It gets very uncomfortable. It does eventually get resolved, but not without significant tension on all sides.
Everyone I've told this story to says that it's the sort of thing that would only ever happen to me. I tell it now because I'm delighted to say it's not: police in Kuettigen, Switzerland received a series of horrified calls earlier this week when passerby spotted a long trail of blood on the road.
They followed the trail for 12 miles to find...
Now I totally don't feel so bad.