roasted pork bellyPosted: December 5, 2011
I don’t even like to write the word bacon, here. I’ll have bacon nothing, please, or plain with eggs &etc. It can be made at home without difficulty, and keeps in the refrigerator for a good long time. That is about enough said about bacon. Or close enough, rhetorically.
Pork belly, however. The thing bacon is made from. That.
A friend of mine, recently visiting, inventoried my freezer, saw my pork belly. Pure fat, rhetorically, barely struck through with pinkâ€”not even struck all the way through, to be clearâ€”the fattiest piece of pork belly I’ve ever handledâ€”gorgeous, perfectâ€”(raised by these friends of mine, incidentally)â€”how about we roast it, he said.
Roast a pork belly? Interesting, thought I. He took a pound, lacerated it, rubbed it with salt, lavender, (he is a lavender sort of fellow), let it sit. I don’t remember his roasting regimen. It’s not important.
It was exceptional. I mean, memorable. The culinary high point of a high week, culinarily. Nearly spreadable. We ate it on bread, some of itâ€”we ate it as one of several things at a meal. I came back to it throughout the meal. I started the meal with it, and I ended with it.
It was less strange than it might sound, oh timid reader. Bacon in another form, my lamb, except tender, moist, melting.
I believe this will become an annual feast dish in this household.