This is not a problem most people are likely to have, but we had this bowl of candied bacon that wasn’t getting any fresher. I made it almost a month ago, and then we went away, and when I came back it was still here. I don’t think it can really go bad–it was cooked through, and it was covered in this rock-hard sugar shell. Or that was my reasoning as I ate some a few days ago.

I know, you’re freaking out right now. Why would we possibly have this just sitting around and not have devoured it instantly? How can I possibly be so jaded?

Well, it’s because I was making it for recipe testing–which means I candied about two pounds of bacon–and this batch didn’t work out so well. It glommed together in this monstrous form, like the Big Meat Candy Mountain. And it had a faint flavor of burniness, sort of bitter. But because I can’t bring myself to throw anything away until it has actually gone bad, there it sat on the counter.

And lo, as with so many forgotten fridge and pantry items, the candied bacon finally found its opening. Peter used the rest of the ground lamb to make a pasta sauce for lunch, and after an hour of simmering, he wandered into the kitchen and asked, “What would happen if I added candied bacon?”

Magic, baby–that’s what happens. Tomato sauce always benefits from a bit of sugar anyway, and everything benefits from bacon. The result is a great winter lunch (or breakfast, if you’re Peter). And a smug sense of once again having the made the most of a neglected ingredient.

I’d advise you to follow this example–but who am I kidding? This kind of freak uneaten-bacon accident happens only once a millennium. I’m just glad we got to capitalize on it.