One of the reasons I love cooking while we’re travelling is so I can participate in the market, not just observe it. I looked forward to two weeks in San Miguel de Allende to shop and cook, as well as to change pace - too many days on the move and we started to ask each other, What city are we in? For the first few days, I went to El Nigromante, the market in the centro historico, the old colonial city. There’s another market, El Mercado de los Dios, not any farther from our apartment, but away from the city centre. Down that steep hill there is another world of shops and living, market stalls full of knock-off barbie-pink packages, shoe stores (so many shoe stores everywhere), and a bus terminal. As I walked around, snapping some pix, I heard many say “Chino” (Chinese) to each other; they were looking at me and I was looking at them. Kind of evens things out. Giving back in the amusing things to look at department.

My attempt to buy eggs didn’t work out too well. I determined they were priced by the kilo, and asked for a dozen. But when my 18 pesos ($1.80 CAD or $1.50 USD) worth were weighed out, they wouldn’t fit into my egg carrier, the kind that campers use. It holds the eggs securely, whether laid flat or on its side. Although some fancy supermarkets sell eggs in plastic or cardboard containers like at home, in the mercado, eggs are usually displayed on egg-crate cardboard flats, and sold in a plastic bag, which has had messy results for me when I jostled them homeward. Maybe there’s a lifeskill that Mexican shoppers know to safely transport eggs home. So my egg-seller sold me six, nested in alternate holes.

The butcher counter encounter was more successful. I bought a kilo of pork leg (I’m guessing, because of the shape and leanness). Then, I pointed to the glass-cased chicharron - deep fried pork skins that are crisp and airy and lightly salted. The young butcher was delighted when I confirmed, Si, chicharrones! I have the feeling that foreigners are perceived as not being keen on fat.

Our communication bogged down when I tried to buy lard, without having researched the translation. A young girl came over from the next stall, offering to help. We determined that the only fat they had was discarded chunks in a bucket, nothing rendered. So I got a quarter kilo of pork fat, white and fresh. Finally, I pointed at the sausage looped over a pole. Chorizo? I asked. No, longaniza. Oh good, a new food experience.

One reason I’m rendering lard is because the butter here in Mexico tastes odd and is a ghastly yellow colour. I don’t understand why the butter isn’t excellent, given the range of wonderful dairy products, so full of dairy fat - thick rich crema with 25-30% fat, luscious ice creams (which I wish were still on my diet), and thick whipping cream. I was frying our eggs in butter, but now am using lard. This could be seen as a step toward healthier eating: lard has less saturated fat, more unsaturated fat, and less cholesterol than butter.

Yes, lard is better than butter.

I rendered the pork fat in a small pot. First, I rinsed it and dried it, then chopped it into small bits, smaller than half-inch cubes, about 1 cm cubes. The fat went into a cold pot, to less than the half-way mark to leave room for bubbling. Over low heat, stirring occasionally, the fat melted into a clear pool. With the lid ajar, the spatters were contained, and whenever I removed the lid to stir, I wiped the underside on a cloth so the condensation didn’t fall back in and explode - the biggest risk in this process. In 20 minutes or so, the pieces of fat were floating in the clear fat. I turned off the flame, and let the residual heat continue to render the fat from the pieces. Surprise, the next time I peeked, the floating pieces had shrivelled and were brown. After 10 minutes or so, I turned the flame back on for a couple of minutes, till the bubbling resumed, and repeated a couple more times.

I let the pot stand and cool for 20-30 minutes, but it remained quite hot. The now shrunken fat chunks sunk to the bottom, but were not totally crisp. Finally, strained through a small wire sieve into a clean container (glass is ideal), and admired the pale clear liquid. My 250g of pork fat yielded a little more than 200g (0.45lb) of lard. It smelled faintly of pork, which was fine with me - I am not intending to use it for sweet pastry.

What struck me is how remarkably easy it was to prepare this fat, and how little smell there was. I was prepared for that greasy smell that I associate with deep frying. Perhaps keeping the lid on, just a little ajar helped contain aerosolized fat. Perhaps keeping the temperature low meant less fat was driven skyward. I’ve heard of using the electric skillet outdoors for just this reason.

A couple of days I was back at the butcher’s, who greeted me enthusiastically. Shopping at the same stall meant I was now a regular. Between my asking for one thin rib steak, 2 beef shank steaks, and more lard, more longaniza and more chicharrones, the butcher told me that the young assistant spoke English, teasing the assistant, who was mortified to be put on the spot. I said, in Spanish, that my Spanish is so bad, as a way of encouraging the young man, but this backfired - they said, oh no, your Spanish is so good!

Perhaps you’re wondering why I’d bother rendering my own lard. Even if the butcher doesn’t have it, the supermarket would. Unfortunately, the hard blocks on supermarket shelves are partially hydrogenated, which means they contain “trans-fats”, the latest demonized fat, known to increase the risk of heart disease. My lard is much softer, without the stabilizing effect of hydrogenation, and should be kept cool.

I’ve used it for eggs in the morning, for frying some onions for black beans, and for pork carnitas. Tonight, I made a frying-pan ratatouille, using a few tablespoons of lard to sautee a little onion, garlic, cubes of eggplant, some finely chopped roma tomato, a splash of beer, and bay leaves, oregano, parsley and thyme, which were the herbs I had available. When it was on its way, I added a chopped small zuccini. It didn’t take long till the eggplant was melty soft, thanks in part to the lard (because eggplant will soak up all the fat you give it) and the zuccini not overcooked. Chopped “string cheese” went on top. With the lid on, and the heat off, it melted nicely.

By the way, the longaniza was delicious - coarsely ground, nice herbal notes. More on that another time.