Thursday, February 26, 2015

Bacon Fat (a poem)

"Bacon Fat" by Juliet S.K. Lee


After frying thick strips of flaccid bacon to a brittle crisp,

my mother drained the cooled leftover fat standing

in the pan into a small Mayonnaise jar that sat on

the counter upon a bamboo tray near the stove along side

the salt, pepper, MSG, shoyu, and sugar, ingredients

she used for cooking and seasoning meals. Passionate

about replenishing it, the oil never grew old or rancid,

the top layer coagulating into a thick white band, the rest

of the liquid slow swirling the charred bacon bits,

like mote, the heavier particles settling to the bottom,

darkening the glass. Fried the eggs, Portuguese sausages,

ham, Spam, bologna, this fat. We lobbed spoonfuls of it

on meat loaf. Foods larded over like this, browned well.

Was appealing, too, because of money saved. How it pleased

the buds of taste.

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