Bacon, bacon, where’s the bacon? I smell bacon. Bacon bacon gotta be bacon. Only one thing smells like bacon and that’s bacon! Bacon bacon bacon bacon there. In that bag. What’s it’s say?! I can’t read! Please, please give me what’s in the bag. Chewy, yummy, smokey, bacon! Oh boy oh boy num num num num num it’s bacon! - Beggin’ Strips

Matthew Timms’ Bacon Takedown at Radegast Hall in Williamsburg was a greasy, delectable tasting of 30 bite-sized bacon noshes stuffed on a foam plate and eaten with some serious beer goggles. The winners didn’t exactly lumber up and body slam their 27 losing opponents onto the Hall floor in true takedown fashion, and the dysfunctional line of 300 meant up to a two hour wait for the $10 grub, but it was generally a friendly and delicious pork-filled affair.

You know it’s, err, finally happening when The New York Times reports on a trend. Uses of “Blipster” and “locavore” come to mind, but let’s not go there. Other than dubbing the recent artisan foods and specialty shops opening in Brooklyn a “movement,” and selecting those owners that aesthetically mesh with the existing Brooklyn “hipster” vibe, Oliver Schwaner-Albright’s article is worth the read (inspiring, even). He gives some well-earned props to Brooklyn Flea, the Mast Brothers Chocolate, McClure’s, Fine & Raw, and Marlow & Sons. I posted on the Flea back in November after a trip out to see Bob McClure, Michael and Rick Mast, and Daniel Sklarr. The return to real artisan trade, keen attention to detail, and community support in Brooklyn is definitely inspiring and can’t help but be reminiscent of the Berkeley food revival in the 70s and 80s. But small, local movements like these need something bigger (i.e. Alice Waters) to make any sort of national impact or even be dubbed a movement. What’s next, Brooklyn?

In the meantime, I need a job. Let’s revive the traditional apprenticeship, shall we?

Also, check out the comments from readers in the Diner’s Journal Blog.

I was looking down the barrel of yet another totally blown afternoon at a second-hand in Brooklyn, this time at the Brooklyn Flea. Apparently hipsters in this borough are made not born, because their rejects certainly aren’t worth the elbow deep rummaging in BO and stale cigarette smoke. I will reserve my thrifty shopping to up-or-out of state.