It could be said that I’m something of a bacon butty obsessive.
I’m fairly new to this, mind you — in fact, I was a bacon butty virgin for many years. I’d been hearing and reading about British bacon sandwiches, a little frisson of excitement popping up whenever some hungry D.I. mentioned one in the British cop shows I adore. And yet in all that time, I’d never come across a place in New York or Singapore where I could find one. Sure, I could whip out some bacon and bread and make one — but what’s the fun in that?
One day, I thought, a bacon butty will cross my lips. (A girl can dream.)
Finally, on a sunny morning in Edinburgh, it happened …
