Louisiana honey over eggs and bacon

 

The honey is dark and deep and broad and overwhelming a bit weirdly incorporating all manner of flora. Things that bloom that you've never heard of. Things you would not plant. That just happen to be there. Like a jungle. Just look at the variety of plants immediately outside one of their rows of hive boxes, a true jungle of low-level flowering weeds. 

This place is west of New Orleans in the center of Louisiana near the bottom of the state. 

Harsh compared with gentler honey. Complex compared with the one-note types. You might think it nice to take a stroll through the jungle one time then right off the heat sets in and the moisture takes over, you can feel the bacteria growing on your own body, insects and bat poop and snakes and thorns, vines with nothing but tiny spikes on them interwoven as random strung together killer basketry. The bites, the stings, the venom, the sap, the extrusions, the poisonous creatures that live in their bromeliad pools consuming insects that flew in there. Rats, lizards, spiders, ticks, various fungus. It's all in the honey. 

And that's a bit shocking. All that's a bit thick. All that coats the inside of your mouth with darkness entirely as a tropical storm slams with great pressure, then as you swallow the intensity fades with remnant portions appearing, Iris brevicaulis ringing my mouth along the edges of my gums, itea virginica under my tongue, Phlox divaricata in my cheeks, Rhododendron viscosum fades from the roof of my mouth. It is a riot. That identifies as it fades. I am not ready for this cacophonous honey.

But what if I oil it down and protein it up? What if it is not the predominate flavor? What if I set the honey with things that have their own deep flavors? What if the honey must play second fiddle, or third. Huh? Then what?

What if all that is just a component? Your sweetener so complex as this. I think this honey will add excellence to anything.