Here's what to do:
1.) Procure large quantities of properly sourced pig fat. (Thanks again to Beau at Rettland Farm for the fat he provided for this project!)2.) Figure out how to make lard. (Thank you, God, for the Internet, which allows ignorant people like me to learn
3.) Follow the directions you find online. But please, for the love of your family, for the love of your furniture and clothing (especially if it is winter and you can't really open windows), and for love of any future visitors to your house, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT MAKE LARD INSIDE. I have to confess here (it is almost Lent after all) that I felt completely unprepared for the stench. Beau was kind enough to warn me not to do it inside, and THANK GOODNESS he did. Because I had so much fat, and was worried that my slow-cooker wouldn't hold it all, I almost caved in and did it in the oven in my gigantic enameled cast iron pot. I am so so so so so so so so glad I didn't do that! To tell you that the process smells just doesn't give it due justice. Think skunk. Not alive, but dead and rotting on your kitchen floor...after it sprayed itself. (Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it really smells foul!) If you do it in a garage, though, the smell doesn't seem to have much to hold on to (carpet, fabric, etc.) and so it is gone fairly quickly. I do not say this to deter anyone from making lard, but I refuse to paint this entire process as a walk in the park, complete with fairies spewing glitter everywhere and angelic choirs singing. Making lard is not such an experience. Gardening? Maybe. Chickens? Sometimes. Lard? Not so much.
Lest I bore you with words---here are the pictures (and some more words, sorry!) of my lard making adventure.
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| But they will be deliciously moisturized by the oily fat. |
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| Still chopping. |
| The pack of fat is getting smaller....but there's still a lot left. |
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| STILL CHOPPING. But look how full the slow cooker is! |
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| Almost done! |
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| This extra bit wouldn't fit in the pot. I just let the original batch cook down for about an hour and then added it in. |
| All packed and ready. |
| After 4.5 hours, you can see that the fat isn't totally rendered. There are still large chunks floating on top. |
| What comes out is a mildly yellow liquid fat. Ideally, there are no chunks or pieces of stuff in it. |
| After all the liquid is strained into the pot, ladle it into clean wide-mouth jars. I was really happy to find all these canning jars leftover from canning season! Place the jars in the refrigerator. |
| Come back in the morning. LOOK! Beautiful, white, pure, healthy lard. Just like our grannies would've made! Set up the jars for a photo op. |
What people won't tell you:
1. Pig fat has "stuff" in it. Like skin or weak tendons or something (I'm no bio major, bear with me.) When you're cutting it, don't expect it to be silky smooth and easy. It's more like cutting the skin off of chicken breasts. I don't have super great knives, so this was more work for me than I thought it was going to be. Please don't laugh, but I also have "issues" with cutting meat, and this gave me that same icky feeling. (I DO have so far to go before becoming even remotely legit as a "farmer" in regard to meat and its processing. But at least I can cut up raw chicken now. When we were first married, I made Ken do it.)
2. If you want it to be easier to cut, leave it frozen. But bear in mind that most everyday kitchen machinery is probably not built to cut up huge pieces of frozen pig fat. I wasn't willing to risk my Cuisinart, which is the one appliance I would probably rescue in a fire.
3. It smells. I've already explained this in depth. But in case you skipped everything but the pictures, I'll say it again: Don't do it inside. Consider yourself warned.
4. Unless you use machinery of some sort, the cutting of the fat will take considerable time. Enlist help. Preferably someone with strong forearms and hands and a good knife.
5. If you are using a slow-cooker on low, this process takes a heck of a lot longer than the "couple of hours" you read about on the Internet.
6. There ends up being a lot of trash with this project. I used an entire roll of paper towels. We don't have a garbage disposal, and even if we did, I don't think you're supposed to put fat down it. So every utensil, jar, pot, counter surface, etc. had to be wiped with something I could throw away. (I also don't think you're supposed to wash stuff in a washing machine that is soiled with large quantities of oil---at least not in a house with sketchy plumbing. So I didn't use kitchen rags for clean up either.) Anyway, it just seemed that the cleanup process was more complicated than just washing some dishes. I couldn't throw stuff in the sink and I was constantly twirling around thinking about where to wipe all that fat.
7. Finished lard will have a slight smell. Not horrible or strongly pungent, but it smells slightly of pork, and here I don't mean cooked bacon. When you use it to make stuff, though, that odor doesn't seem to translate into the finished products. I've used lots of lard in cooking, and nothing has ever tasted weird or like the smell of the lard.
8. Making lard is not hard. But it's work. See #4 and #6. (I'm sure it will get easier every time I make it, though.) Like all worthwhile things, it takes time. And so we've arrived at the million dollar question:
Is it worth it?:
Yes, absolutely! Even without the fairies and angelic choirs, I would do it again for sure. I'd even consider making it for people who didn't want to bother. Just bring me your (good) fat. Stay a while and help me chop if you want to be part of the process. I have a garage, and while it's no summer or canning kitchen (drool), it'll do. (Be forewarned: I might require a payment of a couple jars to keep me in supply!)
Happy Fat Tuesday!
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| Christina R.-This one's for you! |




































