It's been a while since I had the pleasure to participate in the Hungarian tradition of roasting bacon. What is so ubiquitous in my old homeland, that there is hardly an evening on summer's weekend when at least one of your friends, neighbors, or family wouldn't be roasting pork-belly over a campfire, in other parts of the world this practice is completely unheard of! So much so, that I had given up trying to make it happen. I keep relapsing though, after all, it's a lovely tradition and a tasty way to enjoy food, a campfire, and good company. But unfortunately in most cases the conditions are less than ideal.
The One Time It Worked
One wonderful exception was in April 2018, when I had the chance to introduce my Canadian friends on Vancouver Island to what Hungarians call szalonnasütés. We were camping on the beach, had a nice campfire going, and I brought thick slices of bacon that we skewered on long sticks, and held over the hot coals, kinda like as if they were marshmallows. As the fat started dripping we placed some bread under it, to soak it all up. In the end we ate the bread, the bacon, and the accompanying onions, peppers, and tomatoes, and everyone was simply blown away by this unusual and innovative way of preparing bacon. I even posted about it, so please visit it if you're curious.
Trying to Show our Spouses
My parents have long given up trying to indulge in this Hungarian pastime, unless they're in Hungary, of course. The main reason is typically the lack of availability of the bacon, meaning the thickly sliced ones that are worth pulling onto a skewer. Bacon is mostly sold in thin slices, suitable for English-American breakfasts, but for the bacon-stick method the slices should be finger-thick. In Victoria, BC I was lucky to find a whole piece of pork-belly at the butcher's, and he cut of the slices as thick as I wanted.
But ever since then, I kept looking futilely for anything similar... so I stopped looking entirely. Last year in New Zealand, when my sister and I visited our parents together with our Latin American spouses, I actually scored some thick slices. It was a special offer, only for me, after looking hi-and-lo for it. But in the end we failed with the facilities for a cook-out. No place for a campfire in my parents' yard, and the locals did not appreciate people lighting a fire on the beach. So we stuck to the kitchen, with results that don't merit posting about.
BBQ, Parilla, Grilling, Having a Cook-Out
Remembering the disappointment of last year's intention of roasting bacon, I did not even consider it this time around. However, the conditions weirdly offered themselves to be in my favor. The apartment complex where we visited my parents in Santa Marta, Colombia this year had a barbecue area that residents could use (after making reservations for it). And we did, grilling slices of beef, sausages, pork ribs, and langostinos - you know, putting shrimps on the barby, hehehe! It worked okay, though the grill was anything but user friendly, and the final results were quite tasty.
The next time I was at the supermarket, I could not believe my eyes when I was looking for some beef for stewing (which they didn't have!) that I found thick slices of bacon, sold eight in a pack, like it could not be any more perfect. Immediately I forgot the frustrations of controlling the flame under the grill, and I threw the bacon into my shopping cart. It was just too good to pass up.
Realizing the Bacon-stick Experience
Once the evening came when we had reserved the barbecue area, I was all ready and prepared: We had the bacon, nice baguette bread that could catch the grease without falling apart, as well as small onions to fit the skewer. The peppers and tomatoes we deemed too risky for this, so they went into a fine salad my sister prepared. Ample amounts of beer and white wine were chilled and ready to accompany our feast. Left over from our last BBQ session, we still had some sausages, as kind of a plan B, should everything else fail. Not a bad idea, considering...
Reserving the barbecue also came with the necessary grilling implements, including four skewers. So we took the bacon slices and threaded them onto the spits, along with the onions. Once the bread was cut, we could finally light the grill.
Less Than Perfect, But Still Okay
Upon opening the gas, I immediately remembered our first barbecue, and the first pangs of doubt hit me. It was impossible to keep the flame low! Either the fire was roaring full blast, or it switched off entirely. That is not ideal for ribs or steaks, but for bacon it could be disastrous. I already saw all the grease flowing down into the nether regions of the grill, leaving the bacon a crispy piece of charcoal. Already the onions were falling off. I had to take a deep breath, followed by a good sip from my beer.
After the initial frustration, we managed to find a way to keep the bacon from burning. Quick rotation was essential, so was placing them on the top shelf. The onions we gave up on, though there was sufficient onion juice mixing with the bacon, which we diligently kept soaking into the bread. Little by little it started smelling super delicious. Thanks to eight hands juggling two plates and four skewers, we ended up with nicely roasted bacon, and bread fully soaked with grease. I was impressed!
Next Time the Right Way
So in the end we got to enjoy a delicious meal and a good time around the barbecue. For our spouses it may have also offered a glimpse at what a real szalonnasütés is like. But in spite of the seeming success of it, I realized that this is really not the way to do it. First of all, a gas grill just doesn't come close to the feeling of a campfire. A coal barbecue may be somewhat better, but not this. Also the bacon, as delicious as it was, was not comparable to the Hungarian peasant bacon, cured with salt and smoke. It may be just my nostalgia, but that is an essential part of everything. So as a solution we just may have to organize our next family reunion in Hungary! Preferably in a place with a BBQ or grill area, which in Hungarian is even called "a place for szalonnasütés.