Today I rendered pork fat into lard, and it was surprisingly emotional.
It took longer than I thought - all the instructions I read said it would take a hour or two before the "crackings" dried up and fell to the bottom of the liquid oil. I had it on from 4:00 to 9:30 and the crackings were still big and full of fat, but I had stopped seeing a change a few hours ago, so I poured the fat into mason jars and decided to move on.
The internet also said that the crackings were delicious, and a big thing in the South.
I looked up what to do with the crackings next, and the simplest instructions said to pan fry them and salt them. I used a spatula to squeeze out as much fat as I could first, then started to pan fry them.
I used too much heat, and they came out a little burnt and bitter.
And then I looked at them. They looked like svirki. I tasted them - they WERE svirki.
Svirki. I don't even know if I'm spelling it right, but I grew up eating them. My mom said they were bacon bits, but they were distinct from bacon. More bitter, and gritty. And like a hybrid of the meaty part and the fatty part of bacon. My second generation Slovenian parents added them to pan fried potatoes, and sometimes I would eat them with bread for breakfast.
And here I was, making svirki from scratch without even realizing it.
God, it makes me homesick and kind of ashamed of how little I learned about my Slovenian heritage. It makes me anxious to call my grandmother, but it's well past her bedtime so I'll have to wait until tomorrow.
My grandparents on both sides of my family were farmers in Slovenia before coming over to Canada. I never learned the language. My parent's cousins and uncles are still back in Slovenia. I've met them once or twice, but they're essentially strangers to me. They're still living as farmers, butchering their own animals, making sausages, beekeeping, making cheese and sauerkraught from scratch.
I'm learning about how nutritious organ meats are, and a couple months ago I thought making sausages might be a good way to prepare them. My grandfather used to make sausages multiple times per year but he passed away 10 years ago. It makes me so sad knowing that I can't learn to make sausages with him…I did lots of other things with him while he was alive, I helped out a lot on his fruit farm, so no major regrets. At the time, making sausages sounded super gross. I've also baked with both of my grandmothers and learned how to make strudel, crepes, and cabbage rolls. Just right now, with trying to get back to more traditional ways of eating, and with my grandmothers both in their late 80's, it doesn't feel like enough.
Thank you for listening - I didn't expect so much emotion to come out of melting pork fat!