You know, it’s strange — lard never really went away. But nobody talks about it anymore, like it’s this bizarre ingredient that you’re not supposed to acknowledge you still use. But it’s always been around. Typically relegated to the back of the fridge in some re-used container without a label, or in one of those frosted glass jars your aunt swears is “just for baking.” And those who are still using it? Yeah, they’re not the type to chase food trends. They’ve just always done things the same way—sleeves rolled up, no fuss.
So yeah, lard’s pig fat. Let’s just say it. No bacon grease, though folks get them confused plenty. And it’s nothing like pan drippings either. That’s the gunk that’s rendered down — the little by little, the melting of fat (usually belly or back) that you’ve strained the chunks out of, and the what’s left is… honestly kind of clean? Pale, soft, thickish as bodied lotion but clearly not something you would put on your face. And it doesn’t even stink like you’d expect — much more neutral if you’re a newbie.
People used to cook everything in it. Frying, baking, greasing pans, making pie crusts so flaky they practically evaporated. Then came the 80s or 90s or whenever it was, and everyone got spooked about fat and started buying margarine and vegetable shortening and things that came in tubs with bright fonts and health promises. And lard kind of disappeared from sight, though not from use.
If you get your hands on good lard, don’t stick it on a shelf next to the stove. That’s how you ruin it. Keep it cool. Like pantry-cool, dark cupboard, no direct sunlight. If you’re only using it once in a while, fridge is your friend. Some people toss it in the freezer in blocks and just chip off what they need. It lasts forever that way. Like, literally years. Which sounds insane until you realize it’s just fat, and fat doesn’t mind hanging out for the long haul if it’s not getting hit with heat or air.
Open air ruins it. So seal it up. Doesn’t matter if it’s a mason jar or the container it came in, just don’t let it breathe. That’s when it goes weird. You’ll smell it before you see it if it’s turned. Rancid lard is a whole personality.
I’ve heard people say lard’s making a comeback, but I don’t think it ever left. It just got quieter. Bakers never really gave it up. You talk to someone who’s serious about pastry and they’ll get this look if you mention it. Like you’ve said something sacred. It’s the thing that makes pie crusts do that shattering-flaky thing you can’t fake with butter. Not the same.
It fries beautifully too. Doesn’t burn quick like vegetable oil. Stays stable. Chicken, donuts, potatoes—whatever you throw in, it crisps without soaking. You taste the food, not the oil.
And no, it’s not shortening. They’re not twins. Not even cousins, really. Lard is animal fat. Shortening’s a vegetable oil science project. One has flavor, depth, this almost old-world warmth to it. The other’s a blank slate. Which isn’t bad. Sometimes that’s what you want. But if you’re chasing that “how did grandma make this taste so good” flavor, lard’s usually involved.
People get weird about animal fats. I get it. Some folks don’t want anything to do with pig products. Totally fair. But if that’s not an issue for you, and you want to make a biscuit that actually has structure and layers, or a crust that doesn’t fall apart like a dry granola bar, just try it. Buy a little. Or render it yourself if you’re into that kind of thing. It’s messy but worth it.
You probably won’t go through it fast. That’s fine. It’ll wait. I’ve got a jar that’s older than the last oil trend, and it’s still solid. Still smells like lard. Still does what it’s supposed to. That’s more than I can say for most stuff in my fridge.
