When we rolled into Fairhope, Alabama, and saw that our Harvest Host was a spot called Bill-E’s, we were intrigued. Who names a place after themselves and brags about serenading bacon? Bill-E, that’s who. This legend opened his restaurant-slash-dive-bar in 2011, vowing to give Fairhope a place to enjoy killer food, live music, and chill vibes while he smoked (and maybe whispered sweet nothings to) his now-famous bacon.

First Impressions: Peanuts and a Ping Pong Table

Bill-E’s is a masterpiece of dive bar charm. The courtyard is decked out with bocce ball, ping pong, and side bars, all wrapped up in a “kick your shoes off if you dare” kind of vibe. Inside, it’s a hodgepodge of cozy rooms, perfect for escaping the noise—or in our case, the cold.

We arrived right on time for happy hour (as professionals do). Naturally, the bar was our first stop, and it did not disappoint. Coffee bags lined the ceiling, the walls were an explosion of posters and signs, and the bartender greeted us with a knowing look that said, “You’re gonna want the boiled peanuts.”

These weren’t your sad gas station peanuts, either. They arrived piping hot, wet (yes, wet), and unapologetically salty. One bite, and we knew we were in for a culinary adventure.

Supper: A Festival of Bacon and Festive Drinks

After a quick break back at the RV (where the chihuahuas happily avoided the cold), we returned for supper. By then, the Christmas lights were twinkling, a guitarist was serenading the diners, and we had officially decided this was our new happy place.

The only problem? The menu. With so many bacon-filled options, we didn’t know where to start. Thankfully, our server came to the rescue with her pro tips.

I settled on a BLT featuring their signature bacon and homemade pimento, paired with mac and cheese. John the Rockstar Husband Laverty went for a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings that came so highly recommended they practically had a fan club. And, as tradition demands, we started with a cup of gumbo so good it probably has its own TikTok channel.

Then there was the bacon. It wasn’t just bacon; it was Bacon. Thick slabs of smoky perfection, piled high and unapologetic about its girth. It was so good we felt morally obligated to take some home for the dogs—and buy an extra pound for the freezer.

To wash it all down, we dabbled in the festive drinks menu. I opted for a Sugar Cookie Martini (so good I had two), while John explored a Bourbon Cherry Sour before landing on an Old Fashioned—complete with a bacon garnish, because Bill-E doesn’t mess around.

A Carbon Monoxide Wake-Up Call

Stuffed with bacon and feeling festive, we waddled back to the RV and settled in for a cozy night of Bad Monkey. Everything was perfect—until the alarm went off.

At first, we thought it was the smoke detector (probably triggered by our collective bacon sweats). Nope. It was the carbon monoxide alarm. Cue mild panic.

We flung open every door, turned off the generator, and stared at each other, wide-eyed, as the alarm finally stopped. That’s when we realized we’d run the generator for a solid eight hours—twice as long as we usually do. Apparently, generators like to sneak a little carbon monoxide into your RV after a while. Who knew?

Thankfully, the alarm did its job, and nobody passed out. John and I felt a little foggy, but the dogs were completely unbothered. Either they’re immune to carbon monoxide, or bacon has magical healing powers.

Lesson learned: always trust your alarms and maybe stop trying to outlast the generator’s stamina.