Where I get all snobby about my bacon

 

In our house, bacon is serious stuff.

We have extended conversations about bacon. We discuss the merits of different styles & different brands the way OC families might discuss fashion. We consider, savor and discuss a new pack of bacon like teenagers might talk about a new song, or that guy that what's-her-name was seen with last week in the mall. 

We are judgmental and picky. Though truth be told, it's hard to find a bacon that we we won't let back into the house, even after a less than stellar review. (There are notable exceptions: the house brand at Whole Foods. It's just sadly unflavorful. And do not utter the words "turkey" and "bacon" in the same sentence in my daughter's presence).

Bacon in our house is divided into three distinct categories:

- American bacon. This is the streaky stuff made from the belly of the pig with a dry rub of salt and potentially a few other flavors (e.g. maple, smoked, etc.)

American bacon is only good when put on top of other things. A salad. A good burger. Candied and crumbled on top of oatmeal. (trust me on this

American bacon is the co-king of "makes things better when put on top". It shares this glory with a fried egg. (Trust me on this one as well. If you see something on a menu topped with a fried egg, I guarantee you it will be one of the best dishes on the menu. I would not lie to you about this. Other things, ok maybe. But not about a fried egg. We're friends like that.)

- Italian bacon. Also known as pancetta. It's made from the same cut of pork belly as American bacon, but with a different cure approach. It's indispensible in a good pasta carbonara, risotto, or diced and fried with a mess of shredded brussel sprouts. (Ok. You can switch out for guanciale - made from the streaky pork cheek - but the effect is nearly the same.) 

I have a great recipe for pancetta. It takes about 6-8 weeks to cure, and considering that I can get a decent Oscar Meyer bacon for a few bucks, but good pancetta costs me more than $20 a pound, all the bellies of my annual autumn pigs are cut & reserved for pancetta, instead of more typical bacon. 

- and best of all: English bacon. Which is the only kind of bacon meaty enough to stand up on its own as a breakfast main in our house. 

So sayeth the Critter. And so it must be true.

 

 

British bacon comes from the loin of the pig, not the belly. Where you get pork chops (without the bone). It's also called 'back bacon', because of where this is located along the pig - It's along the upper side - usually cut (as ours is above) to extend down and include a little of the upper belly (along the left hand side of the picture above).  This is the same cut used for Canadian bacon - usually found on pizza here in the lower part of the continent. (Canadian bacon is cured with more sugar, typically smoked, and is just as often treated as ham here in the U.S. and doesn't rightly belong in the "bacon" category at all, at least in our household). 

I took a picture of this cut above after curing it for about 8 or 9 days. Most American bacon is cured with a 'dry' cure - essentially rubbing it with salt, probably sugar and a few other spices, and maybe smoking it. 

The best traditional British bacon is cured in a wet 'Wiltshire cure' - a brine that the cut is submerged in to soak in all of the delicious flavors.  About half of British bacon sold in stores there is smoked after curing. The rest is sold 'green' or unsmoked. I prefer the unsmoked - both because of the simpler taste, and because it's easier to make. 

The cure is pretty straightforward - I've listed my basic recipe below. 

Wiltshire cure: 

  • 1 gallon of water
  • 1 lb kosher salt
  • 1/2 lb brown sugar
  • 1 heaping tsp pink salt
  • A few crushed juniper berries
  • 1 bay leaf
  • Anything else I happen to grab out of my spice drawer: 10-12 Black peppercorns. A hefty pinch of dried thyme. Nothing if I'm feeling lazy.

Add the salt, sugar & spices to the water in a large stock pot and heat until the salt & sugar are dissolved. Let cool to room temp (I often cover the pot and stick it out on the porch or in the fridge to accelerate things). Add the meat and ensure it is fully submerged (with a plate on top or some other weight) and put into a cool place (basement or garage). Don't bother it again for 5-8 days. I tend to leave mine for 8 or 9. 

 

 

 

At this point, your bacon is ready to slice, cook and eat.

A couple of years ago, I called my Bride a few days before Father's day and told her I knew what I wanted to celerbate my father-ness. A meat slicer.

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then, "I'm not getting you a meat sli- .... You already have one picked out, don't you?"  

"I'm one click away from having one on our doorstep, baby."

I picked up the one above off of eBay for a two or three hundred bucks, and it's more than adequate for most things. This little deli slicer makes quick work of the bacon. But you could just as well do it with a sharp knife, slicing what you need. (and I have)

I could write a whole other post about what I've learned about meat slicers since buying this one. But as a good, home-use level slicer, it's perfectly adequate. If a pain in the ass to break down and clean afterwards. But hey. Good bacon demands some sacrifice. And I'm ok with that.

 

 

I lay out the bacon on easily sorted sheets of wax paper. You can pick them up in a decent grocery for next to nothing. It keeps things tidy for breakfast, when I have kids clamoring for the stuff. 

The only thing I'll point out about this particular batch of bacon is the extra-thick layer of fat. This pig was beautifully fatted, and I hated to lose too much of it. It could have been sliced off and used to make lardo, but I kept most of it. I sometimes end up trimming that fat off before I cook a slice, or throw it to the dog. But just as often, I end up eating it. Don't say 'ew. gross.' Think of what percentage fat your Oscar Meyer bacon is. That's just flavor. 

Note: If you cut it thicker, you end up with gammon. One of my first lunches with the team in the Liverpool office, I was trying to decipher the menu, and asked someone what this 'gammon' thing was. 

'It's like a bacon steak,' one of the guys said. 

Bacon steak. Holy shit. You just combined two of my favorite concepts in one fantastic meal. And they serve it with a fried egg on top. 

A half inch slice of Wiltshire cured pork loin (bacon), griddled with an egg and served with good pub chips and taken with a pint of beer, and you're in heaven, my friend. It is not to be missed.

 

 

However, this is how I like my bacon best. Griddled in a pan, and put between two pieces of good toast, buttered and hot. A good, traditional 'bacon buttie'. 

Lots of Brits top it with a bit of brown sauce (the HP stuff behind it - we keep it around because my Bride likes it). But I'm a simple man. 

This right here - this is good bacon. And is one more example that the Brits - despite the rumors - do know what they're doing in the kitchen. 

I would write more. But my bacon buttie is getting cold. 

Snow vermin

  This past weekend, we had a good snow - 6 inches or a little more at our house.  I woke up in the morning and looked out to see tracks that I didn't recognize coming out of the woods, crossing our neighbor's yard and strolling through our garden. 

Were they coyote? Fox? Some other predator? 

 

 

You can see that they wandered a bit. They came right up to our patio, in fact, before making a loop of the yard. 

I went and looked a bit closer. 

 

 

Perfect, cloven deer tracks. 

Bastards. 

Two of them, by the tracks. Wandering my yard looking for a free meal, even in the snow. 

I followed the tracks around their path through my yard. Here's further evidence of the damage they do. 

That's a young apple tree - and that's a deer bite taking off one of the branches and closed up buds. I've aleady had to replace another tree that they ate to a nub. 

Deer are 'pretty' when they're in someone else's yard. On my property, they're just vermin. 

I have an electric fence to put up, to create a barrier around the wooded sides of the property (the other two sides are street or the neighbor's yard), but that won't go in until spring. If it gets too bad this winter, I may end up moving one of the children into a tent in the orchard to discourage visitors. 

Never mind the frostbite, kids. Just make sure we get apples next year. 

A (partially) hand made Christmas.

I live with a 10 & 5 year old. The past couple of Christmases have involved a lot of plastic, construction and batteries. 

Don't get me wrong - I'm not opposed to these things per se. I'm not drawing a line in the sand against 'consumerism', or suggesting I want to deny my kids in the cool toy of the year on some itchy-scratchy granola principle. I just have a little worry that the joy has a risk of being diluted in a shower of glitter, lights and gifts that are too quickly outgrown or broken down. 

I have always balked at tinsel, and found more joy in the ornaments my Bride made by hand out of desperation our first year in England, when we realized that we hadn't set our Christmas accoutrements aside for the packers back in California. Combine this with the covetous glances I've annually cast on the 'theme' trees in the local shops, and I made the grand statement that this year, we'd have a "Christmas made by hand!" 

When I heard the crazy that had just come out of my mouth I immediately tried to back away from this statement. 

"This year," I amended, "We'll have a Christmas with many things made by hand! And by many, I mean some. In this one room over here. Not the main room. Or the main tree. But a few. And it shall be awesome. "

My Bride nodded and pet me on the head. Which proves once again that she has the patience of a saint.

 

Some of the ideas I had were to look back at some of the ways our home might have been decorated some time ago. It's a 1739 colonial. I wasn't sure how ambitious I could get in the 3 weeks I had between making that statement and our Christmas party, but I figured I'd give it a go. 

By starting early, though, I did manage to work in a few things in time for the party. I made garland for the fireplace from walnuts and small wooden beads that I think turned out nicely. It took me about two bags of walnuts to figure out how to drill the hole without cracking the shell. And even then, I'd still lose about one in four. But hey! Garland! 

Boxwood and fir branches gathered and hung, and a few clementimes strategically scattered and it feels about right. 

 

Greenery from our yard has always made up a part of our decorations for the Christmas party. It's easy enough to gather in bunches to hang from the sconces and lighting, and it brings the scent and feel of the holidays in the house in a way that I particularly enjoy. 

It helps that in both this house and the last, the designers were apparent sconce-o-philiacs, providing 10 or 12 convenient places to mount our holiday swags around the first floor living area. 

Thanks, crazy designer!


 

For years I struggled with the right way to display the Christmas cards we received. It used to be easy to set them out on any flat surface, but then the postcard-photo-of-your-kids became a fad. And what do you do then? 

Last year I found a big box of old wooden clothespins. Hang a rope. Hook them on. And make merry with the cards, people. 

Also: more greens, and another random orange. Laura Ingles Wilder told me that oranges are Christmas-y. Go with it. 

 

Which probably explains why I sliced and dried a bunch of oranges to hang with red ribbon on the small tree in the dining room. Every year we end up with two trees. Originally, I got an 'extra', smaller tree and called it the 'family' tree, and the big tree was the 'formal' tree - the one with the presents.  This was code for "Sure, kids. We can hang your macaroni ornaments on that tree over there." 

Somehow I lost control of this, and they got swapped around. But they did leave the little tree up to me. Which is something. 

I rounded it off with the old Christmas paper cut-outs from that first Christmas in England I mentioned above, and a simple ribbon garland cut out of plain burlap. The star was made by tying some twiggy garden remnants together. 

(I also tried drying lemon slices to complement the orange slices that turned out so prettily. You know what happens when you try and dry lemon slices? They turn black. Which is not at all as Christmas-y as I hoped.)

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We let our Elf on the Shelf in on the fun as well. If you haven't experienced the joy of the Elf, it's a little figure that magically moves around your house into new places after the kids are asleep. He watches you all day, and then disappears off to the North Pole to report on your behavior at night, returning before you wake the next day. 

You are supposed to name your elf when he appears in your family. Many of our friends named their elf things like "Snowflake," or "Minty," or "Jingles." One friend reported that his kid named their elf "Dragon," because he likes dragons. 

Our kids named our elf "Barry James." Because our kids apparently have an instinct for a funky sort of groove. 

And who's to say that Santa doesn't need an elf capable of laying down a smooth bass line during the off season?

 

For years, we've been carrying on another of our favorite hand-made traditions. When my Bride was a little girl, her family would hide stacks of coins in all the corners of the house, and on New Year's eve, all the cousins would get together and tear through the house on a mad dash, filling their pockets with change, and scrambling over one another, laughing to find them all. This gave you a little extra cash in your pocket to start the new year on, and a few extra memories of laughter with your cousins. 

Our generation was a little slower to create a new crop of cousins, and we've always lived pretty far away from them to boot. So a few years ago, we gave this particular tradition our own twist. We decided to incorporate this as a part of our Christmas party, and make a special point of it with the kids of all the friends and neighbors we invite over. Each year, we make up dozens and dozens of these little crepe paper packages, filled with chocolate and real coins. This year, I think we had about 180 coin packs, expecting around 45 kids.  Before the party, I walk around the house, scattering them around the baseboards, in the corners and around the house. 

 

You can tell the kids that have been to our Christmas party before. They're the ones that walk in the house already scanning for the little packs of coins. They nod hello, go distractedly get a plate of food, and walk around the house mumbling to themselves as they spot new hiding places. 

About halfway through the party, we gather all the kids, warn the adults to stay towards the centers of the rooms, and countdown "3...2...1... go!"

Kids are everywhere underfoot. And in less than 10 minutes, they're piled around the coffee table or huddled in groups, counting their loot and munching on chocolate. 

Maybe it doesn't bring them the same kind of good fortune for the new year, but it provides us with plenty of laughs, and a welcome chance to share a little holiday tradition with our friends. 

We still used a lot of our standard ornaments - many of them have special memories because of where we got them, or because of what they represent. But we left a lot packed away as well, and I, at least, took a little more joy from the start of this season because everyone was involved in both coming up with and making the decorations, hanging them on the tree, or getting ready to invite so many of our friends and neighbors over to spend a little time before the holiday.  

And somehow, I think we started a new tradition or two this year worth keeping.