Try as I might, the two hours after dinner at the Pink Belly evade my memory. Slipping in and out of a food coma, I vaguely recall licking the maple syrup off the spoon before going in for another scoop of crispy bacon-topped vanilla ice cream. It is sweet, salty, sticky and sinful, all at once.
The next thing I know, I am already in my comfy bed at home, dreaming of bacon, ribs and all things porky.
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