Bacon is a tasty treat, no doubt. It adds a lot of flavor to everything from your favorite breakfast to gourmet chocolates, and is a perfect match for refried beans.
Enjoying regular bacon once in a while is OK if you have a clean bill of health. I always tell people to check in with their doctor or a nutritionist. Consulting a nutritionist can be a real eye-opener, but can also help you understand exactly how much saturated fat overall you're consuming and how to make healthier changes if you need to.
Like Hollywood, the food world has plenty of storied marriages, some of which hold up better than others. Peanut butter and chocolate? Like Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn. Chocolate and garlic? More like Pam and Tommy Lee.
And pulled pork and mango? Like Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward: love at first sight to last the ages. And this photo, taken by Kevin at Closet Cooking, helps to explain why. These jerked pulled-pork wraps with mango and banana relish look like lusty testaments to this savory-sweet match made in heaven. As scenes from a marriage go, this is an indisputably happy one.
Not Martha set the foodie world on fire -- uh, 378 commenters and a bunch of blogs, at least -- with her BLT-themed, freestanding bacon cups. But they required three hours of effort and resulted in a house full of smoke.
Then Merriment Design came along and introduced a microwave to the process. Voila! Cups large and small whipped up in as little as five fire-free minutes. All they required were a few pieces of kitchen paraphernalia, some paper towels and a whole lot of bacon. Click through for the particulars of how it's done, and be in bacon cups all summer long.
It's so easy fall for a huge slab of pork at the store only to spend the next week trying to eat through the remains. Fortunately, the pig is designed for all-out deliciousness: Its fat can amp up a delicious borscht, its skin can be tucked into Sicilian Rollups or the meat can be transformed into one heck of a split-pea soup.
Split peas, the anti-heartburn pantry staple, have a very long history that extends well beyond Linda Blair's scary pea-soup spray in "The Exorcist." They're also one of the simplest meals out there to throw together. After the jump is a recipe for a super-easy, super-delicious split-pea soup recipe that just might inspire you to pick up a nice roast ham from the butcher more often. This technique delivers a creamy, rich broth and -- topped here with toasted pine nuts -- is a lime-green harbinger of spring.
Last night on a subway halfway under the East River a quick purse excavation confirmed what we suddenly feared -- a distinct lack of house keys on our person. The day's lunch of leftover Easter ham and homemade challah bread satisfied our epicurean side but was woefully inadequate when it came to blood sugar maintenance -- hence the walking away, the leaving the keys behind and the "aw, crap!"
We panic a tad in moments like this and scramble right to our happy comfort place -- mentally cataloging the contents of our fridge, flipping the pieces this way and that until they interlocked and a picture formed.
The ham, gotta get through the ham. Well it could go with the red cabbage ... no, no ... the scallions. And eggs, oh right! We remembered to buy eggs. Tortilla espanola? Oh wait, got it -- still have that puff pastry left over from the Eccles cakes and that makes ... sacre damn bleu! We've got the makings for a serious quiche -- if we can actually get into the house.
By some strange miracle (we like to think it's The Secret, of course) our beloved husband materialized on the same train car two stops before ours, and in lieu of a civilized "Hi honey, how was your day?" we collapsed into him sighing "We'regonnahavequichetonightpleasedon'targue." Once in the house, we made a beeline for the Julia Child to verify proportions, and got to rolling, chopping, whisking -- grateful not to have to think, just to act. Half an hour later, there was a ridiculously delicious quiche in front of us, without single extra cent or second spent at the grocery store.
Perhaps y'all are more forward-thinking than some of us, but when do you actually decide what's going to be for dinner that night? Do you cook it all up on Sunday, and apportion throughout the week? Do you daydream about what's on hand and pick up any extra ingredients on the way home? Or do you stand in front of the fridge, staring, and make do with what's in front of you?
Get the Ham and Gruyere Quiche recipe after the jump.
Ever whip up a dish that's so madly yummy you wanna feed it to everyone you've ever met? This is one of those.
Yup, Easter's already hopped on by, but who says that's the only ham-appropriate occasion? We'd unexpectedly received a smoked, bone-in ten-pounder as lagniappe for being loyal grocery store shoppers, and while we were old hands at prepping its hard, salty country cousin, we'd never actually baked and glazed a city ham. We've long been inspired by Aretha Franklin's ginger ale doused Queen of Soul Ham and have heard tell of a Coca-Cola ham or two, though have never had the pleasure of sampling one.
A tad loath to leave the house and brave the holiday supermarket fray, we took stock of what was on hand. Diet drinks weren't gonna cut the mustard, husband would flip if we drained his precious Pepsi stash, tonic was a tad depressing, then lo and behold -- Cheerwine! We'd hauled back cases of the distinctive cherry soda when last we hit the Tarheel State, and had been holding out for a special occasion to dip into the stash.
Sure, it wasn't the cane sugar based Retro Cheerwine (which we can't find to save our lives!), but it kept the ham miraculously moist through the initial bake and cooked down into a luscious, fruity glaze, which balanced quite well with the ham's salt, a kiss of bourbon, a quick blaze of mustard and the deep, dark tang of pomegranate molasses.
Can't find Cheerwine in your neck of the woods? Swap in a full-sugar dark cherry soda like Stewart's Black Cherry Wishniak, Boylan's Black Cherry or Jones' Cherry. Cheers!
WC Fields once said "I love children ... if they're cooked properly." As a dedicated meat eater, I tend to have similar feelings about vegans.
While some of my best friends deny themselves the joy of animal products, I simply can't imagine completely divorcing myself from cheese, honey, milk and all the wonderful foods that come from animals. On some level, the idea of approaching life from a tofu haze seems almost suicidally self-abnegating.
In fact, while I have occasionally practiced vegetarianism, I am, at heart, a true carnivore. For health reasons, I try to limit my consumption, but I believe, both philosophically and sensually, that meat is an important part of my diet, if not everyone else's.
But which meat is the best? For health reasons, I'd probably go with chicken or turkey, but if it came to richness, my answer might be duck or veal. In terms of flavor, the answer could be lamb or beef, but for extravagance, it's hard to top a nice big buffalo filet mignon. Then again, in the summer, nothing beats a good grilled swordfish steak ... except for maybe a piece of lightly seared tuna.
The one thing you realize quite quickly about Cuban cooking is that Cuba knows how to serve a pig. The beef and fish might be tasty, but there's just something about Cuban flavors and pork that was just meant to be.
Having a bottle of sherry in my fridge, one that really needs to be put to use, quickly zeroed in on a recipe for Ginger Sherried Roasted Pork from Cuba Cucina! This recipe is quite simple while infusing a lot of flavor into your run-of-the-mill pork tenderloin.
You just whip together a bunch of ingredients to make a marinade, let the pork marinate in the fridge for a few hours (turning a few times for even marination), and then roasted for 1.5 hours at 325. That's it. Voila! Heck, I'm inclined to bust this out the next time I want to have a tasty dinner, but without the effort. Just get things marinating a day ahead, and you've got a dish that only requires you to throw it in the oven on dinner day.
Hit the jump for the ingredients, and happy pork to you!
You might think that a goofy internet meme about a football-sized lump of bacon might be worth a few blog posts, maybe a newspaper article about all the blog posts, then a swift plunge into the cold outer darkness where D-list reality TV contestants from 1998 and the band that wrote "Turning Japanese" live in eternity.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars. For the Bacon Explosion. Excuse me, I'll be in the kitchen baking a wedding cake with house-cured lardo icing and candied pancetta roses for my upcoming cookbook "Say it With Pork: 101 All-Pig Recipes for Your Special Day."
Admittedly, it's not as if the delicious fruit of a smoked pig's belly was ever all that obscure; stlll, over the past few weeks, it has been gaining a fresh, and sometimes repulsive cultural relevance. A little over a month ago, Marisa McClellan covered The Bacon Explosion, a spicy, smoked, barbecue-basted brick of pure pork. Truth be told, the explosion is kind of like a bug zapper: terrifying and vaguely dangerous, yet attractive and deeply compelling. Worse yet, for those of us who don't have a meat smoker, the explosion's creators have put together an oven recipe.
As if this wasn't enough, over on RiffTrax Blog, Michael Nelson has announced his intention to eat nothing but bacon for an entire month. As he has struggled through February, a reader has produced a bacon effigy, dubbed FrankenBacon, to demonstrate the aftereffects of too much pork. For those of us who are sometimes haunted by the ghosts of our meat, FrankenBacon is actually a little scary.
Meanwhile, in my constant quest for the best boutique bonbons in New York City, I recently came across an article about Roni-Sue's Chocolates, a company in New York's Essex Street Market. Although Roni-Sue's carries a wide array of truffles and candies, I was immediately drawn to their pig candy. Basically crispy-fried bacon dipped in chocolate, this hearkens back to the sugar-crusted pig candy that my wife and I used to make.
Meanwhile, I'm getting that old carnival feeling--the same one I have when the halcyon call of the deep fryer draws me in with its promise of batter-fried Oreos and funnel cakes. Must...resist...the call...
Who am I kidding? I'll probably hit Roni-Sue's this weekend. On the bright side, maybe it will make it easier for me to resist the siren song of the Bacon Explosion!
I love bacon. I've had a lot of it in my life, in many shapes and sizes, and cooked in many different ways. But I have never seen anything like the above -- especially from a store-bought brand. I tried to pull a piece out of the package, and it just wouldn't separate from the clump. After a few moments of struggle, I realized why -- that entire clump was the end of one piece of bacon.
The above picture doesn't completely do the bacon justice, but one end on each of the 3 pieces I pulled out was huge. The top two strips came in at about a centimeter thick, while the biggie was even bigger. In fact, the chunks were so huge that I chopped a lot of the thick parts off (which almost filled a ramekin) to make a soup with later, while still having more than enough for my meal. But best of all -- a good portion of the big chunks is all meat. Not fat.
From what I can find Googling, Bob's Bacon must be new to the world, and it comes right from Sofina Foods, a custom food manufacturer. I just hope it sticks around, because at $3 a pop, it's a heck of a lot thicker than the other thick bacon you can pick up at the grocery store, and a whole megton cheaper.
Have you ever found bacon that thick at your grocery store? And if you are a regular hugely-thick bacon consumer, do have any great recipes requiring super-thick bacon?
A man has vowed to eat nothing but bacon for the month of February. No other foods. No condiments. He's even limiting his drinks to water and booze. Crazy, eh? But this is not just any man. This is Michael J. Nelson, former writer and host of Mystery Science Theater 3000.
"Bacon" shall hereafter refer to the cured and smoked fatty cuts of pork, either back, side or belly. In other words "American bacon". No "Canadian bacon", which is really just lunchmeat. No pork chops. No turkey bacon. No "tofacon" or any such horror. Just bacon.
I'd beg to differ on the "Canadian bacon" thing since it's actually peameal back bacon, which does fit his rules. But still -- this is a true sign of bacon love. Forget bacon baking, bacon martinis, and all of the other strange forms of bacon that have popped up recently. This is hard-core love.
As much as I adore my job, I tend to get the Sunday evening blues and have found as of late that labor-intensive cooking projects prove to be wonderfully soothing. It might be a bread knead, a painstakingly crimped lard crust pie, or, as it's manifested for the second week in a row, a unexpectedly soul-stirring risotto. Emphasis is on the "stirring" part, I assure you, as two times now, I've darned near sprained a forearm muscle with the non-stop drag of the wooden spoon through the ever-thickening starch. It's worth it, though -- the constant, meditative motion -- when it suddenly, palpably, audibly even, transforms the individual rice grains into a sumptuous, silken mass. It's the sort of culinary alchemy that transforms me from a solitary kitchen wretch into someone who suddenly wants to feed everyone she's ever met.
Last week's Acorn Squash Risotto from Mario Batali's Molto Italiano cookbook was a rousing success with my husband, as evidenced by this habitual leftover-snubber's willingness to dig back in on subsequent weeknights. This week's pulled pork variation, made on a whim, was a hearty treat tonight, and I've got a sneaking suspicion the flavors will meld well over the next few days.
Try for yourself. My Pulled Pork Risotto recipe is after the jump, and if you've got any soothing cooking rituals you'd like to share, I'd be more than grateful to hear about 'em.
As a Virginian, born and raised, I am a definite ham guy. This isn't to say that I eat it at every meal, or that I consume it indiscriminately; in fact, I limit my consumption of the beloved pork to the occasional Smithfield ham, slice of prosciutto, or other dry-cured wonder. Still, while I eat it rarely, I do so with absolute love and an almost religious devotion.
These days, the ultimate trophy ham is the famed Jamón Iberíco. It is made from a Spanish Black Iberian Pig that has been allowed to graze on acorns. Because of breeding and diet, the hams are noted for their unique flavor and supposedly healthy fat.
While delicious and healthy, the hams are also exceedingly expensive, retailing for about $1400 apiece. As with almost any luxury item, the incredible price tends to attract ham counterfeiters. Luckily, however, there is a definitive method for determining if one is, indeed, eating an honest-to-goodness Jamón Iberíco: unlike other breeds, Black Iberian Pigs have black trotters. Of course, clever imitators have tried to undermine this method by painting trotters with black paint, but wise connoisseurs are careful to rub the feet to ensure that the black stays on.
Several months back, I had the unique pleasure of introducing Bacon Salt and Baconnaise to some vegetarian friends at a potluck. They were floored by the bacon-y flavor of the two products and couldn't stop raving about the fact that they could now satisfy their bacon cravings without resorting to the horror that is soy bacon. By the end of the evening, Kate was on my computer ordering her own jar of Baconnaise. I sent her home with an extra shaker of the the Original Bacon Salt, to tide her over until her own supply arrived. She has not been without Bacon Salt since. Yes, it's just that good.
One Virginia couple has apparently taken their love of Bacon Salt to a new level, by getting matching tattoos announcing their devotion. I say apparently, because I don't have any links to back this up, the picture and story were sent to me by the folks at Bacon Salt (so this could turn out to be a publicity campaign).
However, having experienced Bacon Salt and Baconnaise frenzy firsthand, there remains a (hopeful) part of me that imagines that this ink just could be authentic.
We can change the way we make eggs -- scrambled, poached, fried -- but what about changing the eggs themselves? Mix up your scrambling routine with quail eggs.
What is the deal with bacon lately?
A man has vowed to eat nothing but bacon for the month of February. No other foods. No condiments. He's even limiting his drinks to water and booze. Crazy, eh? But this is not just any man. This is Michael J. Nelson, former writer and host of Mystery Science Theater 3000.
As a Virginian, born and raised, I am a definite ham guy. This isn't to say that I eat it at every meal, or that I consume it indiscriminately; in fact, I limit my consumption of the beloved pork to the occasional Smithfield ham, slice of prosciutto, or other dry-cured wonder. Still, while I eat it rarely, I do so with absolute love and an almost religious devotion.
Second Helping of Slashfood - June 19
Competitive-Eating Contest to Pit Humans Against Elephants
The Backyard Boom - The Hungry Bride
