Not so much a camp fire. More a forest fire in a forest heavily populated with pigs.
A couple of nights ago, a neighbour knocked on my door fairly late in the evening. She had come by, she told me, to drop off some of her home cured and smoked bacon which was excess to her family's requirements. Actually, I think she was just worried that I didn't have any and couldn't possibly survive the winter without it. They are lovely, lovely people except the Stupids who live downstairs, but I ignore them as much as possible.
Anyway, this is a dry cured bacon which is then smoked until blackened. It is very smoked. It is a full blown lump of smokiness. I'm surprised you can't smell the smoke from wherever you are.
It is now hanging on my balcony next to an old New Year decoration which I have never got round to throwing away. (Neighbour suggested it could do with a bit more hanging - the bacon, not the decoration.) Unfortunately, this is also where I hang my clothes to dry - no electric driers here - so all my clothes now smell of smoked pig. No one seems to mind. Some get rather affectionate. Forget pheromones!
The thing weighs just under a kilo. It's probably not what you want on your breakfast plate or in a BLT. I keep looking at it and thinking "baked beans", but I can't find the beans, The locals, including neighbour, use it in hotpots and soups or sometimes in highly spiced stir fries. We don't go in for the delicate (insipid) Cantonese style of Chinese cooking here. We want our food to punch us in the mouth.
I will try to let you know what I do with it.
