This post is for my readers—all three of them, probably—who have a sack of pig fat sitting in their freezers waiting to be turned into lard. Judging from the blank stares I get when I mention lard-making, most people do not dabble in pig fat. Most people, it seems, would rather go through life pretending that pig fat does not even exist.

But then there is me.

I am celebrating because I have crossed from ordinary lard consumer to lard maker. I have chopped pig fat—from our very own pigs that we raised on our very own land—with my very own bare hands and then cooked it down in my very own oven till it turned into liquid fat/gold, I am the Little Red Hen, hear me cluck!

Seriously, though: how many of you have a stockpile of fat waiting to become lard? Two of you? Five? This is not a rhetorical question! It is a test to see just how tiny my little island is—Helloooo! Can anyone hear meeeeee?

Sigh.

Anyway. On the off-chance there’s another person stashing fat (in the freezer, not the body since I know I’m not alone there) and not sure how to get it into lard, I am here to tell you everything.

Actually, it’s really not that exciting. Just pop the fat in an oven and cook slow and low until you have lard. The main trick (if you can even call it that) is to keep the fat at low-enough temps so it never boils because boiling imparts a bad flavor and color, or so I’ve been told.

I cooked my pig fat for a day and a half, got 4½ pints, and then called it quits. The fat cubes were still pretty big so maybe I could’ve gone longer? But that last half-pint of lard was no longer pure white, and I was tired of running the oven. The animals thought the scraps were the best snack ever. (I was afraid the smell of the rendering would be overpoweringly disgusting, but as long as the oven door stayed shut, it was actually quite mild. I even had a friend pop in and not notice the smell at all.)

What am I using the lard for, you ask? Oh, silly you! The options are endless. I’ve already made a batch of sky-high biscuits to celebrate (and to go with this carrot soup), and I mixed some into the pork filling for tonight’s empanadas. In the next few weeks I’ll be using lard in everything, from pastry crusts to scrambled eggs to refried beans to soup. Trust me: a stockpile of fresh, homemade lard is not a hardship.

Homemade Lard

Chop pork fat into little cubes (tip: fat is easier to cut if partially frozen) and tumble them into a glass 9×13 pan (or pans, if you have a lot of fat). Bake, uncovered, at 150 to 190 degrees.

After about six to eight hours, liquid (the lard!) will start puddling in the bottom of the pan. When there is enough to make it worth your while, pour it off, through a fine-mesh strainer (or cheese cloth), into a bowl. While the lard is still hot, pour it into jars. Lid the jars (the heat from the lard will make them seal) and let cool to room temperature before transferring to the refrigerator for long-term storage.

Return the pans of fat to the oven and bake for another four to six hours. Repeat the process (pouring off the liquid and baking) until the fat ceases to relinquish more lard.

For more lard-making pointers, go here and here and here.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (1.11.16), the quotidian (1.12.15), sticky toffee pudding, spinach lemon orzo soup, eyeballs and teeth, creamy blue cheese pasta with spinach and walnuts, and spots of pretty.

This same time, years previous: how we kicked off 2016, our little dustbunnies, what it means, sourdough crackers, date nut bread, one year and one day ago, between two worlds, buckwheat apple pancakes, so worth it, the quotidian (1.9.12), salted dulce de leche ice cream with candied peanuts, and hog butchering.

On Wednesday I booked my spot on the bus for the Women’s March on Washington. I am so excited!

For awhile, I was on the fence about going—the expense, the bother—but then a friend (thank you, Friend!) offered to pay my bus fare which forced me, and gave me the freedom, to seriously consider making the trip.

I had a couple hang-ups. First, what was the march’s purpose? The whole thing confused me. Was it anti-Trump? Pro-women? In support of all human rights? And second, marches (and political demonstrations in general) make me skeptical. Jabbing signs heavenwards, yelling ourselves hoarse, spending all that time and money just to… what? Make us feel good about ourselves? Wouldn’t it be more effective to spend all those thousands on, I don’t know… Medical research? Humanitarian aid? Education grants?

On the other hand, maybe the march would be good, less of a self-indulgence and more of a self-discipline. For the last few months, I’ve been plagued with a lurking panic and flashes of flat-out fear that, as we slipped into 2017, have only intensified. Now whenever I pause to actually consider things, my body tenses. It might be easier to stay home, but maybe I needed to step out and move.

I read up on the march, trying to understand the purpose. It’s still not completely clear to me, and the origins were rather murky, but best I can tell, the organizers were planning this march before the election because of all the anti-human rights rhetoric bubbling to the surface. Then the election happened, the results drove home the point (We’ve got problems, people—always have and always will), and the march got scheduled. Human rights for all, now that I can get behind.

So yeah, I’m going to this march for me. I want to feel better, more hopeful and less fearful. In a lot of ways, the march reminds me of a church service: a motley group of people pressing the pause button on the hustle-rush of the daily grind in order to gather for a few short hours to bolster and support one another and be encouraged. Looked at that way, the march does have merit. It might not be productive in the classic Protestant work ethic sense, but choosing to be with people is never a waste.

So January 21, I’ll plant myself in the middle of thousands of strangers and together we’ll say, World, here we are. It will be a much-needed—for me, for the world, for whoever/whatever does it even really matter?—jolt of (bracingly cold) fresh air. At least that’s what I’m hoping.

If nothing else, it’s sure to be entertaining.

Will I see you there???

This same time, years previous: how to make a fireball, high on the hog, breaking the fruitcake barrier, the quotidian (1.6.14), headless chickens, of an evening, candied peanuts, and sweet and spicy popcorn.