It is a joyful day. Yes, today I found out where the delicious additives in Cracker Barrel's "healthy" string beans come from. They probably come from Hormel. The video above just reaffirms it.

You see the one and only time I ever ATE at Cracker Barrel was in Grand Rapids, Michigan. (I admit I've been to Cracker Barrel many times since as I've traveled the country because though I'm no fan of the restaurants, I can't get enough of the gift shops where tea cozy's made to look like barnyard animals and Coca Cola decks of cards with extra large print sit beside jars of foot long licorice whips and refrigerator magnets). There has never been anything on the Cracker Barrel menu for this finicky former fat boy with an acid reflux issue could eat; it was all pork, Pork, PORK with some red meat, brown/white/yellow sauces thrown in and lots of potato products. As we walked into the Cracker Barrel Restaurant with my family and cousins in Grand Rapids, I whined "I can't eat anything here. It's gross."

After employing a delaying tactic looking at the travel sized Sorry game in the gift shop, I finally decided I would be a team player and at least go into the dining room and SIT at the table. No sooner than I had sat down then my cousin said she had made a discovery.

"I found something YOU can eat."

My eyes scanned the giant tri-fold menu but all I could see was more variations of Arnold the Pig (name that vintage 60's TV show).

"They have string beans!" she pointed proudly. And there, under "sides" of corn succotash and creamed spinach were string beans. Simply string beans.

Great, string beans I thought. Give me a couple of buttermilk biscuits (without the pork gravy) and I guess I can call it a meal. What more could I expect from Cracker Barrel. The waitress didn't seem to mind that the little fussy guy from the Left Coast of the USA who, just a few moments earlier sat there with a disdainful look and who shook his head "no" when she asked if there was something he wanted to order, now was ready to order. "Coming right up," she said cheerfully.

For some reason the string beans took longer than everyone else's meal. While my family and cousins dug into their Country Fried Steaks and Gravy and Over Easy Runny Eggs on Hash, I waited patiently for my string beans. Well at least I had my glass of water in the mason jar with a handle to sip from.

Finally the beans arrived.

I have to admit the first bite was pure heaven; salty, creamy texture and just the right temperature, I didn't mind that they were covered with slivered almonds. They just tasted good. Now everyone was happy that I was happy (or they were just happy that I stopped whining). Oh frabjous day.

After a few minutes of "hmmm, these are good" and "wanna take a bite?" I decided to engage our waitress. I was just so happy there was something for me to eat. I motioned to her (I can't recall her name but she Somebody "Lou" like Betty or Joan) because I had to tell her how much I enjoyed the beans.

"Scuze me," I piped up as she poured some tap water into my mason jar with a handle, "but I had to tell you how much I LOVE these string beans with slivered almonds."

"Why, thank yew!" She was as proud of them as if she cooked them herself.

Ever eager to find a way to continue the conversation with Somebody Lou, because, face it, everyone else was too into their gravy, ham hocks and potato skins, I asked her if she could tell me how they made the string beans. Were they steamed with a little butter? Parboiled and then tossed with some oil like canola or olive? Or were they flash fried, then tossed in a baking dish and lightly seasoned with herbs and sprayed with Pam?

"They're made with bacon fat.."

The whole room fell silent while everyone looked to see what my reaction would be.

"B-b-b-b-acon FAT?"

"Yep! Good isn't it?"

I realized then that no amount of sticking my finger down my throat (forget that I have a fear of vomiting that I will elaborate in another blog posting) or greasy buttermilk biscuits would erase the damage to my esophagus/stomach lining/duodenum/small and large intestine that I imagined, let alone the image of my long passed Grandmother who now loomed it front of me because she was the one who made me throw out the little Christmas tree I brought home from school or who taught us that bacon and all pork products were evil just because we were Jewish.

BACON. FAT.

I had eaten nearly half of plate of string beans and the other half sat on there in a pool of slivered almonds and slightly yellow and cream colored liquid that was basically liquified lard. It was then I realized I would have to make a choice. Push away from the table and never set foot in Cracker Barrel ever again; or suck it up.

I sucked it up.

In fact, I ate it up and used my biscuit to finish off the sauce. For me, it was pretty disgusting but damn they tasted good! While I ate the rest of the beans, everyone else at the table sat in disbelief. I had crossed the pork barrier and there was no turning back; acid indigestion, the runs, and eternal Jewish hell (aka eternal guilt) be damned.

655Jack was eating pork meat trimmings and pig lard. And I liked it.

Guess I can check Cracker Barrel String Beans made with bacon fatt off of my pork bucket list.