I'm making BLTs for dinner. But I'm pretty damn serious about bacon, lettuce and tomato. Try thick-cut bacon, toasted slices of pane de altamura (golden durum bread), heirloom tomatoes, romaine and roasted garlic aioli (made from scratch, baby). I just believe that nothing is more summery than a fantastic BLT. It reflects so many of the essential principals of taste and texture. Salty and acidic, sweet and creamy, crisp, soft, chewy. . . perfect.
You can go anywhere from Italy to my grandmother's house in Tennessee and find dishes that with this magic substance at their core. Without it, coq au vin is hardly coq au vin; pasta fagioli and soup beans (white or pinto, with cornbread or without) are just beans. Southern-style braised greens become the bitter scraps of an impoverished garden.
But pork fat isn't just a contributing ingredient. It's oh so very fine as the star. The first time I had a slice of real proscuitto di parma, blushed cheek pink and vellum-thin, I knew my palate would never be the same. The first time that delicate, unctuous fat melted in the heat of my mouth and spread salty-sweet over my tongue was much sexier than my first kiss. From there it was a short trip to pancetta and speck and soppressata, sauccisson sec, boudin and andouille, and a whole universe of artisinal bacon.
Tonight I made Kale and White Bean Soup with Smoked Sausage. Bitter greens and bland beans beg for the kiss of pork fat. Garlic, chili flakes and parmesan cheese add depth, but truly it's soul is in the sausage. A few chunks infuse the broth with smokiness and richness, temper the kale and tickle the beans into life. Not a bad feat for the the humble piggie.