Lard Help Me, But I Love It

By Mike Osborne

Holy cow — Waco is a hard place to try to buy pig. None of the conventional area grocery stores carry or even have access to the pig parts I've needed lately — parts like back fat and fresh bellies. Not even the Mexican groceries carry junk like that any more. Oh, for just one Asian Market in this burg — they too know what's good and usually stock it. Now, you might think I'm talking about political pork, the kind you hear radioheads jabbering about, but I'm not. I literally wanted a 5-pound slab of pork belly (that's uncured, unsmoked bacon, y'all) and an equal amount of back fat, the thick pure white stuff that comes from high on the hog. Why, you might ask? My young brother, Seattle Sam, and I were cooking up a big birthday bash for my octogenarian daddy, and everything had to be uprighteous and outtasighteous. Nothin' but over the top for our pop would do.

You might also want to know what we planned to do with the pig parts and where I was able to locate the raw materials. After scrambling around town and getting shot down it dawned on me that my old sausage-making buddy, Mike Landsfeld, at Waco Beef and Pork Processors, would probably have what the doctor ordered, and sure enough he did. I picked up a great big boston butt there, too. As it turned out, I didn't do but a smidgen of shopping for this shindig at a grocery store. Almost everything aside from the meat came from a couple of area farmers' markets and vegetable gardens. That in itself makes a huge difference for the better.

We were going to feed 20 or so relatives, assorted friends, and neighbors, and the menu was as ambitious as a social climbing Episcopalian lady lawyer. Now don't get me wrong. Most whiskypalians I know would make better baptists than me any day. I could've picked on the bootists just as easily if I was given half the chants. But I digress. In addition to a birthday celebration, the meal was also all about pork and its inherent divine nature, as well as a celebration of summer's bounteous fresh vegetables. We needed pork belly confit to garnish one of the salads, the boston butt figured into the pork rillete appetizer along with more pork belly, the confited belly also played a bit part flavoring the fresh field peas, and I had some excellent apple smoked bacon that went into the stuffing for a roasted pork loin that was so boa constrictor big, I had to cut it into three sections just to get the thing in my oven. The back fat served two functions: provide lard for the recipes and make cracklin's for the cornbread.

I know it's a four-letter word, but I'll say it again, "LARD," and you can quote me. In my book, pig fat is where it's at, but I'm not talking abut just any old lard. The stuff you find on those dusty grocery chain bottom shelves isn't much better than Crisco. For the real deal you've got to render it yourself. It's not hard to make lard. Put your back fat in the freezer for a half hour or so until it firms up, then cut it into one-inch cubes. Put the diced fat in a great big deep-sided skillet and add a cup or two of water. Turn the heat on medium-low and render to your heart's content. the process takes a few hours, but you can be doing lots of other productive chores while you wait. The water keeps the pork from sticking, and after it evaporates, the fat stews in fat of its own. When it is done, all those porky little chunks have given up the ghost and turned into golden crispies, aka cracklin's, that can transform a pan of cornbread from sinner to saint. Strain the lard and reserve the cracklin's. I spread them out on paper towels to drain and sprinkle them with a little salt while they're still hot. The cracklin's will keep in the fridge for a week or more.

Next, you might be scratching your head over what the heck a rillette is. First off, it's pronounced "ree-YET," and it's an old French way to preserve meats in fat. I took equal amounts of pork shoulder (which is about 30% fat) and pork belly, cut it into two-inch chunks and cooked it with some herbs in a little water for about six hours at 250-degrees. After that time lapse the pork is meltingly tender and shreds easily. Think pulled pork. Shred the meat with a pair of forks and season to taste with salt and pepper. This means you put some of it in your mouth and decide how much salt and pepper to add by trusting your own taste buds. Once it's cool enough to handle, pack the mixture tightly in as many ramekins as you own, cover the meat with a few spoonfuls of freshly rendered lard, seal with plastic wrap and stick 'em in the back of the refrigerator for at least three days — longer if you can plan that far ahead. As time goes by the rillettes do nothing but get more flavorful. The amount of fat in the mix and the fat on top will retard spoilage. How to serve? Let the rillettes come to room temp. Serve with small pickles, preferably home made, some good French mustard (which is different than French's mustard), and some toasted baguette slices. This stuff is really good with one of those Rhone-style reds or rose-A wines from southern France. Make this for a crowd and you'll make some new friends. I'm not kidding, it's really that good.

Wondering about confit? I'll help a little, say it with me, "cone-FEE." Sure, I knew that you could. Confit is another age-old method of preservation. To make this little gem of a dish I cubed about 2 1/2-pounds of fresh pork belly into big dice about 2-inches square, and marinated it overnight in a mix of white wine and sweet spices like nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. I used salt, pepper, bay leaf, thyme, and garlic, too. When it was time to cook I drained and blotted the belly dry and slow simmered the stuff in more of the lard for close to three hours. At this point, I took the pan off the heat and allowed the whole shebang to cool to room temperature. Stored in its own fat, a confit like this will keep for a couple of weeks in the cooler, and it has a very high yum factor. It's fab-boo all by itself when you brown it up in a hot skillet, and as previously referenced, it makes a great garnish or flavoring agent to myriad other side dishes.

I'll spare the details of the rest of this familial affair. Just suffice it to say that all the guests and the honoree had to loosen the old belt a couple of notches from all of the gnoshes. The wine flowed freely, too, and a mighty fine time was had by all, including two sweaty brothers who performed a kitchen labor of love. The moral to this blind-hog/acorn diatribe is: You can actually find what you need in Waco when you think outside the big box stores. You just can't hardly beat home grown tomatoes, fresh squash, pickles you make yourself, plum jelly from your daughter's farm, and pig in as many manifestations as possible. Come to think of it, I want the same menu for my 80th, too.

Now I want to hear about some of your summer festivities. What have you made to feed the huddled masses of family and friends? Was that family reunion hit or miss with the side dishes? Share some secrets on where to get hard to find ingredients. I sure want to know. As we say in the bidness, "Chow."

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