Yesterday I opened the fridge to get out the ingredients for dinner when I saw a strange-looking vacuum-sealed package. It contained something white and opaque. Curious, I pulled it out and, to my horror, saw the words "pork fat" written in Sharpie on the front. I let out a small shriek and tossed the package back onto the shelf.
To be honest, this should not have surprised me. Ever since my husband, Pete, started his meat-making hobby, things of this nature have regularly shown up in my fridge. This past weekend alone, the following were things were going on in there: a pork belly was curing for bacon, giant bowls of seasoned pork were waiting to be ground into sausage, and beef was marinating for jerky.
I have to admit, the finished products are great. I just don't like seeing all the "behind the scenes" parts. I mean, it's one thing to eat and enjoy a sausage patty, but it's quite another experience to imagine the thick, white, gelatinous pork fat that you now know went into it.