What is bacon jam, you ask? It sounds sort of gross on the surface, but deep inside it's a combination of savory and sweet that tastes like nothing you've ever had. Smokey, succulent, sweet, meaty, and spreadable on your favorite things to spread stuff on. On Christmas day, we spread it on fresh eggless hushpuppies and it was magnificent. We went through an entire jar in nothing flat.

But how do you make bacon jam? Apparently Martha Stewart had some thoughts on it recently, which brought some attention to some recipes around the web. As is my way, I went through a few, isolated what I felt was the core of the recipe, then added my own touches. Here is my recipe for bacon jam.

A bacon-infused liquor is a novelty. It's not something you'll probably drink regularly, but its perfect for making up cocktails for a party. With that in mind, I set out to make bacon vodka and bacon bourbon for a New Year's Day brunch I was planning.

For both, I tried the "fat washing" method. This is where you mix bacon grease into the alcoholic beverage in the belief that many of the fat-soluble flavor compounds are also alcohol-soluble and will transfer. Give them some time to transfer flavor, then strain out the fat. While most of the infusion recipes suggested putting slices of cooked bacon in a jar of alcohol and storing it in a dark cool place for a week or two, the fat washing recipes said to pour the fat in, let it sit a few hours, freeze to solidify the fat, and strain.

First I tried the bourbon and followed a recipe I'd seen that said to wash it for 4 hours, then freeze for 90 minutes. It also mentioned that keeping it at a slightly elevated temperature would help the fat get the most contact with the alcohol.

I tried this with a fifth of Jim Beam and 3 tablespoons of bacon fat from my bacon jar (yes, I save bacon grease in a jar for cooking), that turned out to be about 2 ounces when warmed up. I stirred it in with a spoon and let the booze and grease have 4 hours together, repeatedly giving the jar warm/hot water baths and occasionally shaking it. I froze it for 90 minutes, strained off the fat, and made a bourbon old fashioned (2 oz bourbon, 1 tsp maple syrup, 2 dashes bitters).

I'd read that the bacon flavor wouldn't hit you up front, but come in as a smoky note on the back end. It did that on the first sip, but then the bacon flavor dwindled and it just tasted like bourbon and maple syrup. In a later taste of the bourbon, I didn't get much bacon at all.

So, for the bacon vodka, I went "whole hog" (please excuse the pun). I oven baked a pound of Cloverfield hickory smoked bacon...

• line a baking pan with foil
• line that with bacon
• set oven to 400 degrees
• put bacon in while the oven preheats
• cook 20-30 minutes until done to your liking

Starting the bacon off in a cold pan in a cold oven ensures you'll render the maximum amount of fat.

After the bacon was cooked, I drained off the hot fat (about 2.5 ounces) and whisked it into my room-temperature Vodka, then sealed the jar. Periodically I would heat the mixture via either a hot water bath or 40 seconds in the microwave, then give it a good stirring with the whisk. But instead of letting it sit for 4 hours, I let it sit for 26, and I let it freeze overnight. The vodka that was produced had a much more pronounced bacon flavor and smell. This is what I expected bacon vodka to taste and smell like.

So, if you're planning to fat wash some booze, here are my tips.

1. Use fresh cooked bacon fat right from the oven.
2. Use the renderings from a pound of bacon per 750 ml of liquor
3. Whisk the fat and booze together rather than stirring.
4. Periodically warm and re-whisk
5. Let it sit at least 24 hours before freezing

My wife, as she browsed through artsy and craftsy stores in Portland last weekend, wanted to show she was thinking of me (while she was off having fun at an art conference and I was home doing a 3-day weekend of toddler wrangling). So she bought me some bacon flavored mints.

After she bragged in her art blog about how thoughtful it was for her to buy them for me, I finally got up the gumption to open them.

The smell that wafted out didn't so much put me in mind of bacon as it did of the smell of a open box of Band Aids. And that's sort of strangely coincidental since the same company makes and sells adhesive bandages that look like bacon.

After sniffing it a bit, I had to quit now or take the next step and put it in my mouth.

Perhaps you've read my musings on the Uncanny Valley, but if you're not familiar with the concept...

There's a space along the spectrum from "cartoony" to "just like the real thing" in which a product that imitates something becomes too much like the real thing, yet not enough like the real thing at the same time. In this space, the little differences become magnified, almost creepy or disgusting. When it's done with robots and animated characters, it feels like you're watching a zombie, an animated corpse. Enough's right to make it seem human, but enough's wrong to make that humanity creepy and scary instead of endearing.

That space is called the Uncanny Valley.

These mints live in the Uncanny Valley of bacon. To sum up the taste... they tasted like doggie bacon treats smell. You get hit with such an overpowering essense of bacon that you know immediately it's not bacon. Bacon just isn't that... bacony. And instead of revelling in an enhanced bacony sensorium, my reaction was to spit out the mint.

So, my darling wife, I do so appreciate you thinking of me while I'm sitting home with the kid so you can go hang with grown-ups and be creative. Without your thoughtfulness, I would never have had this experience which has made my life so much the richer.