Illicit lard trafficking

I am so sorry that I have been away from here for a few days, but I have been very busy initiating the illegal transport of lard across state lines.

I was forever asking Terrell about lard, assuming that he had a few blocks stashed away on top of his stove. But he’d just tell me to buy it at the supermarket, which I was not about to do. You just do not know where those pigs have been that supermarket lard comes from.

I have a fantasy of frying chicken in lard. And, of late, it’s become an obsession. So I was in Atlanta a few weeks ago at the Peachtree Road Farmer’s Market. And I happen upon a sausage stand. I am not going to tell you the name, and you will understand why in a moment. I pose the question: “Do you have lard?” And the proprietor answers that he does not but that he might be able to ship me some. I become extremely excited and upon arriving home start to plan for my beautiful lard-laden fried chicken.

I begin a correspondence with my lard purveyor and he informs me that shipping will be a little tricky because officially he’s not supposed to send anything over state lines. But he is willing. I place my order. I wait expectantly for days. No lard.

I sense my lard provider is getting cold feet and I am right. And, actually, he is right because it definitely is not worth losing your food license because of some deranged woman in Tennessee who has designs on your lard. By the way, I would like to say here that for those of you who think lard is bad for you, it is not. Well, not that bad. Butter is worse for you than lard, and I eat at least a stick of butter a day and am none the worse for wear because of it. Plus my skin glows.

But I digress. You know how God has a plan for you? God has a plan for me to get my lard. I get a call from a friend of mine who will be passing through Atlanta in a few weeks. He knows of my lust for lard and he is willing to pick up an order for me. I briefly ponder whether it is also illegal to transport lard across state lines when purchased by a third party. I decide not to pursue the question so I don’t spook my new lard carrier. He will then hand off my lard to a third party at an undisclosed location who is willing to then deliver the lard to me.

Is all this subterfuge worth the trouble? I will report back to you, but I think it is. I have either dabbled or completely immersed myself in everything Southern. I can fry. I can make pie crust. I know my way around a pan of macaroni and cheese. I have the battle scars and burns to prove that I have embraced cast iron.

And now lard. The last frontier.