Top 10 Rum Bacon Bits

In this the meat of a three-part crumpwich series documenting the Cajun Migration, The Crumpets pilgrimage to the Queen’s landholdings to trace the embarkation of the Acadians in Nova Scotia.


Rum Bacon Bit #1: Canadian bacon, marked by its signature ham-like, juicy, lean, departures from regular bacon, does not compare to the product that emerges from ravenous swimmers, a propane stove, and a bottle of Cuban rum under a looming U.S. embargo on Cuban goods. With 14 hours before a border-crossing, the Cuban rum must be consumed, and what better way to do so than use it for culinary purposes in a provincial campground under liquor ban. Voila! The inflammatory taste of rum bacon—the new Canadian bacon standard.

Rum Bacon Bit #2: For the adventure-seeking enthusiasts, soaking up a host of “Highway 1s” on craggy coastlines on quests for sea-faring villages of ballad-worthy renown [read: Sherbrooke] is quite the wall-of-fog driving experience. Most rewarding is when the fog breaks to reveal groups of village children waving and chasing one’s vehicle amid joyous whooping and yawping—presumably at the sight of another human being.

Rum Bacon Bit #3: The bustling metropolis of Halifax seems to be the only urban center of significance in Nova Scotia, and despite the apparent lapse of rigid enforcement from what may be assumed of the British-esque guards who man the city’s central fort whilst iPhoning on duty, purchasing alcohol at Halifax establishments surprisingly requires two forms of government-issued identification including but not limited to: passport, driver’s license, social security card, birth certificate.


Rum Bacon Bit #4: Fast food chains in Canada, simply put, have odd variants. To order a burger from the A&W one must choose from a “burger family”: the papa burger, mama burger, and the special—“grandma burger.” McDonald’s also has its oddities in the double Big Mac and what must be a regional favorite—the McLobster.

Rum Bacon #5: Canada is quite fond of calling its educational/museum/historical sites “interpretive centers.” Example: Fort Bickerton Lighthouse Interpretive Centre. It could mean full sensory experience of place. Or it could refer to the confusion of visiting the Acadian National Historic Site, where the natural greeting is “Bonjour” and if one member of the party proceeds to converse in French, it is assumed the rest will do so as well. Interpretive.

Rum Bacon #6: Agriculture (along with fishing) in Nova Scotia appears to be the economic mainstay. Though the fields of fallow land during what seems to be a short-window optimum growing season would negate this observation, the stretches of wide open land—fallow or not—are quite astonishing. Alternatively, lawn care could be a close second for occupation choice. Any day, all day, somewhere lawn-mowers hum.


Rum Bacon Bit #7: Unlike many American state signs, Nova Scotia has its signage down to a gargantuan science for optimal tourist cam photography. Not only does every province seem to have larger than life decorative, engraved lighthouse carvings, but every exit has its own picture-book landscape road sign of what culture awaits in just half a kilometer.

Rum Bacon Bit #8: Do not try to be local and cultural and experimental by ordering a Canadian. Beer, that is. It may sound exotic: “I’ll have a pint of Canadian.” But ye b warned, if Bud-Light is lowest on the shelf, Canadian is rolling around underneath the rack. A much finer alternative is Rickard’s, which comes in Red, White, and Dark varieties.

Rum Bacon Bit #9: The temperature of the North Atlantic around Nova Scotia is between approximately 25-35 degrees during winter, and 50-60 in summer. Given that summer does not really begin until late June (if the abandoned tourist towns are any indication), one really appreciates Suburban seat warmers after a dip in the ocean and subsequent frantic dash to the heat-cranked vehicle on a dreary/foggy/windy/wallofogged day.

Rum Bacon Bit #10: Thankfully the U.S.-Canadian border patrol agents at Calais do not find it necessary to detain four whippersnappers bedecked in American flags waving Acadian ones bellowing “Viva L’Acadie!” and “Rule Britannia” in a Suburban full of wet tents, wet towels, wet clothes, unwashed camping utensils, half-eaten pots of jambalaya, and a backseat stuffed with sleeping bags and potentially-embedded Cuban cigars. The border patrol agents are much more interested in posing existential questions to the motley crew of Louisianans, Cajuns, quasi-Cajuns, Las Vegans, Knoxvillians, Americans with questionable allegiances, finance students-turned-lit, lit-students-turned-grad-students: “What ARE you?” and “Driving from Louisiana. To Canada. Camping. In four days of rain. And no one’s killed anyone yet?”

Such is “leave no trace” camping.

[Bonus Bacon (because it’s Canada): Nova Scotia, Canada’s playground of the Maritimes or some such thing, is actually on a different time zone in parts. It is in fact possible to drive around the island for days unawares of the time change and what time it actually is, but only because Canada’s signature aviary--the loon--signals when dawn has arrived. The loon, not to be confused with Canada’s monetary increment the looney, heralds the dawn with punctuated squawking yawp screams sounding like a bird with short term memory loss surprised every five minutes to discover that, “WHAAHH!,” it is indeed a bird.]

Most Wanted List: Sunrises from easternmost continental points (thanks, wall o’ fog)

Crump It Up List:

(Editor’s note: This list is by no stretch of the imagination exhaustive. With more than 72 hours of driving time and expert DJs and Library-of-Congress-size iTunes, what gets listed here is simply one perspective of “memorable.”)
“Go Do”—Jonsi, “Barrett’s Privateers”—Stan Rogers, “June Hymn”—The Decemberists, “Rule Britannia,” “Thundercats”—Reliant K, “Woods”—Bon Iver, “Galway Girl”—Steve Earle, “Paper Planes”—M.I.A., “Ignition”—R. Kelly, “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice”—Paul Dukas, “All of the Lights”—Kanye, “Albuquerque”—Weird Al, “Into the West”—Annie Lennox, “Scott Dowdin’” (to “Free Fallin’”)—T-Matt & G-Matt

Acknowledgments: Gratitude for The Cajun Migration exploration leg of the great roadtrip is owed to Pat—the empty nester Mountie dad who offered us lanterns, propane, light, hot tea, and showers from his campsite across the way, to the camp manager at Nimrod’s Campground (Ms. Nimrod?) who changed out of her pjs and opened her trailer to us for a campsite in the dead of night in desolate Sherbrooke, to the Halifax security officer who cared enough to ponder where we could find Guinness stew and in so doing offered the history of Halifax and gave suggestions for stellar interpretive centres, to the Border Patrol officers who, despite their best judgment, allowed us safe and unencumbered passage to and fro our various homelands, to Megan the cranky pub server who did in fact manage to bring three of the same orders to the table despite an initial bleak outlook, to the bullet-proof-vested liquor police who did not search our campsite, to the Book of Nova Scotian folklore for providing many a head-scratching riddle, to T-Matt for educating us all in the ways of the Acadians, to G-Matt for saving Bertha from being stuck-in-the-gravel/mud, to Mario for expertly handling the inquisition at the border patrol both times, to the Great Lob, god of the sea to whom sacrifice was paid but from whom our lives were spared, and finally to Longfellow—who made the quest for Evangeline so poetic.



Prequel (New England adventures) and Sequel (the majesty that is Buffalo) to follow soon.

Peace out Brussels sprouts, yo.