Like Mr. Duess, I grew up in the country. Unlike Mr. Duess I grew up in the woods in northern northern northern Canada: The Yukon to be exact. I grew up with a secret swimming hole, fishing and hunting trips, a nice big dog, lots of motorcycles and fixing motorcycles. I would say, however, that it was ultimately a tough place and that this small list of things kept me out of trouble. When I moved to the city to pursue an exciting life in media (woo hoo), in some misguided attempt to embrace urban living and my new creative profession, I left behind all these fabulous things. Things that I think have, in a circuitous way, lead me to make some pretty great home cured bacon.
The short version of this story goes something like this: I had a revelation of sorts a few years ago that I could have my exciting, fun, culture filled urban life AND still love motorcycles, hunting, fishing and big dogs. I went out immediately and rented a motorcycle, got my hunting license and brought home another cat (I know its not the same thing – the dog will have to wait for a larger backyard in the future).
MPW and I on our way, like good Canadians, up north.
My good good friend Micheal Phillip Wodjewoda became struck, around the same time as I did, with his own special form of motorcycle lust and he dove head first into it. He is now a full time rider. I, for the sake of the sanity of Mrs. Stephenson, have opted to rent a bike occasionally in the summers when the weather is nice. Once a year Micheal and I go on a little tour together. Wednesday was our day. This year I rented an unlikely bike for me – a Harley Sportster.
It is a simple, low to the ground, rumbly, middleweight bike with a very basic V-Twin, single cam engine and short short exhaust pipes without baffles. This all really translates to this bike being louder than hell as it propels you with a convincing amount force across the asphalt.
What does this have to do with home cured bacon you might ask. I know, certainly, that Mr. Duess is likely rolling his eyeballs reading this right now. To him I say, I beg your indulgence, Mr. Wax On, Wax Off!. I got to thinking a bit about the experience of driving the Harley and how it relates to this idea of “New Heritage Cooking”.
My ride and I after a fabulous truckstop lunch. "Keep the rubber side down" was a piece of helpful advice I got from the cashier.
The Harley is about as honest a ride as you can get. You can hear the valves tapping away, you can hear the combustion of the gasoline air mixture, you can even hear the pistons and crank shaft in the slow chugging of the engine (according to Micheal, it makes a sound that goes, “potato-potato-potato-potato-potato”), you certainly feel the vibration, smell the exhaust, and are very aware that the ground is only 23 inches from your but. On top of this the suspension is rustic so you feel every little bump and you ride this little beast in an upright position, so you get the full force of the wind against your body.
There is a kind of basic understanding that you reach, through your senses, of the reality of riding a motorcycle. This is not only highly enjoyable and entertaining, but lead me to appreciate the aesthetic of the Harley – something I was previously not into, standing on the street listening to some jerk rev his Harley up at the lights. And this is where we get to the home made bacon part of things.
The really nice thing about the home made bacon, the home made duck prosciutto, the home made sourdough bread (damn you Mr. Duess! you will get your comeuppance) etc, is that you begin to develop a relationship with the process and all the elements that go into it. This translates into a more informed sense of taste – a more informed experience with the final product. I can unequivocally say that my appreciation for bacon has grown leaps and bounds through selecting, spicing, curing and smoking my own.
Just in case you forgot, this is bacon.
There is a real knowing that comes with doing. While this is not a perfect metaphor, I think that the Harley Davidson puts you in this very position. If you’re riding around on a slick racing machine with a technologically advanced engine and suspension, you can certainly ride fast, but you do this by exchanging the ability to percieve the more elemental aspects of the experience. I’m not trying to make a case here for one being better than the other – I am a fan of the fast slick bikes too (as Mr. Duess has indicated, I do like my speed) – but I think that the Harley kind of puts you in real sensory contact with the basics. Once you’ve taken this in, I have no problems saying that the experience becomes richer.
Making your own cured meats puts you in contact with the materials and elements of the process. When I eat prosciutto, salami, pancetta or bacon now, I have a sense of the meat, the spices, the cure, the fermentation, drying, and smoking. I can taste it. And this makes the experience richer. After a lifetime of riding bikes, there is something very simple that the Harley reminded me of – that you’re riding over the ground on a couple of wheels strapped to an engine powered by exploding gasoline. That’s just how I like my bacon – not exploding, but honest.