Bacon should -ideally- be cooked until thoroughly dead on a well-seasoned, flat griddle plate- preferably in a rickety caravan in a lay-by on a main road, by a man with a beard, huge bushy sideburns, egg and sauce splattered apron and a long-extinguished, wet roll-up in his mouth.
He should also break wind loudly at least once during the cooking process, or scratch his balls/pick his nose/sneeze and make no effort to avoid contamination. That which don't kill ya, makes ya stronger...
Egg should be either a) rock hard and burnt on the bottom or b) barely cooked, with that clear slime round the yolk still prevalent.
Any sauce should be dispensed via pump from a filthy, five-litre container of anonymous cheap ketchup, but should be rejected if the stalactite of congealed sauce on the nozzle is less than four inches long.
Small black flecks of debris (BCBs- Burnt Crunchy Bits), are to be expected, and are in fact considered essential for a full-flavoured, authentic truck stop experience.
The sandwich or baguette must then come wrapped in greaseproof paper or tinfoil. You may be given serviettes, which you can use to spread any misdirected grease and sauce around the rest of your face.
This should be followed up with watery tea from a chipped, tannin-stained mug (which will be wiped with a dirty teatowel and hung back up instantly upon return), or an arabic-printed, warm can of Coke from the crate the grill is propped up with. And possibly a semi-liquid Mars bar with a dubious blob of permanent marker over the sell by date.
Heaven.
Never did me any harm.
