Don't forget the bacon

"... six fat legs, a cape for me, and don't forget the bacon!" Or so the story goes. In our case it was more like "... 20 lbs of turkey, sausage for stuffing, and don't forget the bacon!". Meat? Yah, we got that. When Elena and I picked up the pig (well, our half) we didn't get the bacon because they were still curing it for us. We purchased our Thanksgiving turkey from the same people who did the pig and they timed the bacon to be ready with the bird. The bird, tasty, pasture raised, never frozen, and responsible for two batches of stock and countless servings, was, alas, not a heritage bird. Thus, in our life and death conversations with Elena, the reasoning for killing and eating (other than TASTY) was pretty straightforward. Better dead quickly an in our bellies than dead of slowly crushing itself to death as the Broad Breasted White (incabable of many things, most notably natural reproduction or life much beyond a year) pushed close to its first birthday. With luck they will put down heritage birds next year, regardless it was one tasty bird. Now, what was I writing about? Oh yes, "don't forget the bacon!"

I worked, but Erin, Steve, and Elena went to get the turkey and the bacon. I got home about when they did and was greeted by a house that smelled like smoke. I found a tied trash bag on the counter that smelled like smoke and hefted like dead weight and asked "Erin, what's this" --- The BACON. Cedric cured it, and did a bang up job, smokey and salty -- no nitrates so saltier than "normal" we were warned, but several taste tests have proved the end product quite desirable -- and delivered the entire side to us, intact. Even in my quasi rural life, I had never seen a "side" of bacon to realize that it is really, literally, the SIDE of the pig. The size and heft of the time the Weigels brought home a placenta to use in their haunted house (which was always noteworthy and incredibly spooky, but that year was particularly memorable) but with a much more appealing consistency and aroma. In any case, it left no doubt -- unlike some of the more sliced and diced cuts -- that you are eating a hunk of an animal.

Erin whacked it into chunks to freeze, leaving one out to slice and fry as needed (next morning, and again several days later and, oh wow, that chunk is gone -- better get another one out) and that is the story of the bacon. Seen here in all its pre-slicing glory with a wine bottle for scale. Sorry sniff and taste tests are not available online. Take my word for it, get a side of a pig, have someone who knows how cure it, eat it repeatedly and give thanks!



The pigeon loft is essentially done and will make its debut shortly, as soon as I run out of meat to blog on!