Okay, I've tried my fair share of weird food combinations. I've munched down on Twinkie dogs and slurped a couple of Guinness floats. Once, in a misguided attempt to revolutionize roast chicken, I stuffed a pullet with banana bread and glazed it with a cranberry and lime juice reduction. For that matter, I even tried Voodoo Donuts' maple bacon long john, a taste sensation that was salty, crunchy, sweet, and altogether delicious.

Recently, I came across an oldie-but baddie: Auntie Bessie's "mash and sausage cone," a snack that consists of mashed potatoes, peas, sausage, and gravy, all packed into an ice cream cone. While some people, apparently, have known about this crime against humanity for a while, it was news to me. Metro, a British blog, may have hit the nail on the head with their caption "horrible, horrible, horrible, horrible, horrible." I might add in "Dear God, oh God, why?!?"

To be fair, though, Aunt Bessie has, apparently, abandoned the mash cone concept, noting that the cones got too soggy. With this in mind, I decided to seek out the next generation of horrifying food concepts.

I think I might have found it.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about Voodoo Donuts' Bacon-Maple Bar. I tried to maintain some level of journalistic integrity, pretending to be ambivalent about the seductive wonder that the mass of sugar, greasy dough, and smoky pork held for me. I claimed a certain level of disgust, even as I frankly admitted my attraction. In many ways, it was like describing my feelings for Courtney Love.

Well, no more. I can no longer pretend to have even the smallest amount of distance from this wonderful agglomeration of fat, sugar, and empty calories. Last night, at a Oregon food showcase, I met the owners of Voodoo donuts and tasted a modified, East-coast version of their Frankenstinian confection. Sad to say, it was absolutely everything that I expected: delicious, seductive, and oh so bad for me.

The NYC Bacon Maple Bar began with a locally-produced basic donut that both my wife and Voodoo Donuts' President assured me was extremely close to the real thing. It was then slathered in a maple frosting, liberally sprinkled with filberts, and given a final dollop of bacon. Simultaneously salty, sweet, crunchy, and fluffy, the finished product was everything that a "pancakes and bacon with tons of maple syrup" man could want. It was heaven.

Unfortunately, the Voodoo Donuts guys are heading back out West shortly, which means that the Bacon Maple Donut and I have had to part ways. Even so, it has given me a reason to contemplate a visit to Portland, Oregon. Now, I just have to wait for airline tickets to come into range...

I like to think that I generally have good taste. I try to avoid wearing stripes with plaids, am careful to pair robust red wines with my Big Macs, and only eat Sweet Tarts on days that end in "y." That having been said, I must admit that I have a few weaknesses, the most egregious of which revolve around sweetened pork products. To put it bluntly, I can't resist them.

For a long time, I was able to hide this predilection. Basically, it only came out around Thanksgiving, when I would bake a huge Virginia ham, slather it in brown sugar and orange juice, and cook it on high heat until it was sheathed in a crunchy candy coating. Resisting the urge to hoard all the sugary goodness, I would thinly slice the ham and serve it up to my family, only snagging a few pieces with the lame excuse that I just had to test the flavor.

Ultimately, I blame my wife, who introduced me to what she euphemistically called "pig candy." Basically thick-sliced bacon that has been rolled in brown sugar and baked until crispy, the sugary tidbits are sweet, salty, and only slightly less addictive than crack. Luckily, the shame of munching on grease, sugar, and salty pork is a pretty big deterrent, and I've been able to resist my pig candy urges. Still, late at night, I sometimes dream...

At any rate, I was recently reminded of the addictive wonder of pig candy when I came across this review of Voodoo Donuts' bacon-maple bar. Basically a buttermilk long-john, it apparently combines all the delight of maple sugar with the salty smokiness of bacon in one wonderful, fatty package. I immediately forwarded the review to my wife, who used to live in the Pacific Northwest. Needless to say, she'd already been there, tried that, and found it to be everything that I could imagine.

At the end of the day, it's nice to know that I'm not the only one in sugared pork rehab!