As the old saw goes, when the world hands you candied bacon, make buttermilk waffles.

At least that's what I told myself this evening, after an intense but wonderful three-hour performance of Death of a Salesman, when somehow, a midst the pudding-like fog of a chilly December night, suddenly no food on earth could be possibly more appealing than a bout of what Felix once, so adroitly, dubbed "Brinner."