An open letter to Bacon:

What happened to you, Bacon?

You used to be every man’s breakfast treat, then a sexy way to dress up a cheeseburger and fries, sort of like a miniskirt and eye shadow on a Saturday night.

But then you went all Hollywood.

You fell in with the celebrity chef crowd. Maybe you started believing your own hype, and enjoying the way American males fawn all over you. So you let them take advantage of you. And it wasn’t just letting yourself get apple-smoked and wrapped around shrimp or filet mignon, no.

You let them infuse you into Bloody Marys and cocktails. You let celebrity chefs take you home — reclining for pleasure on their cast iron skillets — and believed that they’d make you into a star.

Oh, Bacon, you fell into the kinky side of the food porn industry. Even South Florida’s own Michelle Bernstein used —yes, used —you to win a local pork cooking competition by transforming you into dessert.

Dessert, for God’s sake, Bacon! Fatback caramel and bacon sundae, to be precise.

Well, look at you now. How’s it feel to see yourself on the Burger King summer menu as the featured item in their generically named Bacon Sundae at $2.59 plus tax? Just piled high over soft-serve vanilla and slathered with caramel and chocolate sauce, all nuance out the window.

Bacon, I’m so disappointed in you.

I guess I can’t blame you. America fell in love with you, and how could they not?

But I’m not ready to take you back, not yet. I need space from you, Bacon.

You need to take time to reflect on what it is you want to be because it’s clear you can’t be all things to all people.

And I need time to get that pork fat-and-chocolate-fueled BK brain freeze out of my mouth — and hopefully my mind.