But it's all worth it because I have tales to share. In the first of our tales, Our Intrepid Traveler goes to British Columbia, where a lovely hotel serves breakfast every morning. It's a nice buffet breakfast -- boiled eggs, cold cereal, oatmeal packets, fruit, etc. One area usually has hot food in chafing dishes. Usually some sort of omelet and sausage, etc.
One morning, there's a chafing dish labeled "hardwood smoked bacon." I don't keep bacon in my home, because a) only home for nine days in a month. It would spoil; and b) it wouldn't have time to spoil because I would eat it all within 24 hours. (I have a weakness for bacon). Bacon is better left as a treat for the road.
I enjoy the bacon very much, because it is DELICIOUS, and the next morning, the same chafing dish is labeled "bacon."
I lift the lid, eagerly anticipating the bacon -- and it's not bacon. It's big round discs of ham. Canadian bacon, as we call it in the States. It slowly dawns on me that -- ta da -- I'm in Canada! In Canada, Canadian bacon is called "bacon." That's why it's "Canadian" bacon.
So there you go. I have been culturally educated. Also, I'm rounder, because I ate a bunch of the "bacon" as well as the "hardwood smoked bacon." They were both delicious.