#call me lox and bagels the way I’m salty

[levaagrace]

I’m really just. Wracking my brain, trying to figure out how to effectively write Jon apologizing to the others for his existence without making them have to bear the burden of forgiving and or comforting him. I dunno. I just want to find a way for him to regain his humanity in their eyes but considering how selfish it is of him to put that on them I’m just not finding out how, y’know?

It’s a conundrum to be sure.

[flowerfan2]

Ok friends, I’m cracking up sitting here right now, because I just took a quick trip to get bagels, came inside with the bag of bagels in my hand, and then sat down to post today’s chapter before allowing myself the reward of eating breakfast... and this is how the first line of today’s chapter begin:

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other...

I got iced coffee instead of hot, but still, I guess it was meant to be!  Hope you enjoy Chapter 15.  @perryavenue​ is going to recognize where I got my inspiration for this one...

David x Patrick, A03, 3k this chapter, 48k so far.  

Chapter 15

David comes into the house with a bag of bagels in one hand and a tray of hot beverages in the other, listening to see if Patrick is awake yet.  He was hoping to surprise him with breakfast in bed.  Unfortunately, sunny Saturday mornings mean long lines at the bagel place, and it all took a lot longer than he had hoped.

David deposits the bagels on the counter, spotting Patrick sitting outside on the lanai.  Drinks in hand, he joins him at the table and leans over to give him a quick kiss.

“Successful trip?” Patrick asks, taking the lid off his tea and inhaling appreciatively.

“Mmm, yes.  I checked several of the bagels on the way home.  The French toast flavor is overrated, but they do an excellent marble rye.”

“Leave any for me?”

“Even I can’t eat a dozen bagels in half an hour.  Three, maybe, although that would still be a mistake.  There are plenty left for you to choose from.”

Patrick grins at him and leans back, putting his bare feet up on David’s lap.  David frowns.

“What, are foot rubs before coffee incorrect?”

David mock-glares at Patrick, even though he loves these silly call-backs to their history together.  “Bare feet outdoors is incorrect.”

“But there’s a swimming pool.”

“The pool is over there,” David waves his hand.  “You are here, sitting at a table, eating breakfast.  Not swimming.”

“Technically I was reading the news on my phone.  Not eating breakfast.”

“Keep antagonizing me and there won’t be any breakfast in your future, either.”

Patrick grins at him, then removes his feet from David’s lap and goes inside to retrieve the bagels, along with plates, cream cheese and lox.  Ordinarily David would insist on toasting his bagel, but these are so fresh and warm that they demand to be eaten immediately.  They busy themselves with their food for a few minutes, David moaning in appreciation, mostly just to watch Patrick react.

“So, I had an idea for what we could do today.”

“Is eating a pile of bagels and then taking a nap not good enough for you?”

Patrick chuckles.  “I was actually thinking of going kayaking.”

David nearly chokes on his food, and Patrick pats his back good-naturedly.  “Kayaking?”  He doesn’t screech, but it is a near thing.  “What about me, exactly, suggests that I would want to go kayaking?”

“Come on, David.  We’ve been sitting around here for weeks.  I did just get the all clear from the doctor.  It’ll be fun.”

David does not think for a minute that it will be fun, as kayaking will undoubtedly involve bugs, unstable vehicles, and the threat of drowning.  But Patrick has been beached, so to speak, ever since his injury, and David knows it has been weighing on him.

“I don’t suppose we could go on a nice, safe hike instead?”

Patrick laughs.  “We can do that another day.  I called a place about a half hour from here, they have two boats available this afternoon.  Just give it a try.  If you hate it, we won’t stay out long.”

Much to his surprise, David does not hate it.

They show up at the launching area in their swim trunks and shirts, David with his long-sleeved swim shirt on, and Patrick with some kind of sports related jersey.  Their guide makes them wear ugly life preservers, which ruin David’s look but do give him a bit of relief when it comes to his drowning concern.  After a short lesson, during which Patrick asks lots of excited questions and David tries valiantly to follow along, they each get into a kayak and are pushed out into the water.

The sun is shining rather enthusiastically, and David is glad that he has sunglasses on – he even made them stop along the way to buy a cheap pair, in case they wind up in the water.  Patrick bought a ridiculous strap that holds his on his head, and he’s got a ball cap on as well, so there’s not much to see of him except his lovely pale arms which David very much enjoyed slathering in sunscreen.

David pulls his attention away from Patrick and focuses on stroking his paddle through the water, trying to put the guide’s instructions into action.  Patrick stays near him, offering quiet corrections, and soon they both fall into a comfortable rhythm.

David knows that he’s in better shape now than he’s been in for most of his life.  Although running doesn’t do much for his upper body, at least he’s got stamina.  He tries to relax and enjoy it.  If he paddles just right, the kayak cuts through the water without very much effort on his part.  It’s kind of neat.  Soothing, even, almost like the way it feels when he gets into a groove on a run.

They aren’t out on the Gulf, as ocean kayaking is far beyond their skill level.  Instead, they are making their way down an inlet of some kind, a broad waterway with docks and houses on both sides.  Soon they are out in the bay, and Patrick directs them past a piling with an egret’s nest on top, over to a bristly bunch of trees at the water’s edge.

“These are mangroves,” Patrick says, indicating the dense tangle of scrubby looking trees with visible roots.  “They’ve adapted to living in salt water, extracting the fresh water they need.  Some of them push the salt out onto their leaves.  The leaves even taste salty.”

David doesn’t ask how Patrick knows this.  He’d just wind up watching him lick a leaf.

They paddle closer, and David can see into the clusters of plants, the roots and branches weaving together.

“Want to go through?”

David has no idea what Patrick is talking about, but he follows him as he kayaks around the edge of a cluster.  There’s an overhang, and what looks like a tunnel into the middle of the clump of mangroves.

“Are you serious?”  David asks under his breath, but Patrick is already nearing the entrance.

“Go slow,” Patrick says over his shoulder.  “Try not to point into them, and if you do get stuck, just grab on carefully and lever yourself off.  Remember not to overbalance.”

It’s a recipe for disaster, but David gently eases himself into the tunnel.  It’s cooler and dim inside, with branches and green leaves all around him.  It smells like low tide, musty and brackish.  The nose of his kayak gets hung up briefly as he turns too hard in one direction and for a brief moment it lists dangerously sideways, but he takes a breath and then uses his paddle to back up a bit and set himself on a straighter path.

He catches Patrick looking back at him, having executed some kind of fancy twisting maneuver so that he can see David.  “Nice paddling, David.”

They rest for a minute there, Patrick showing David how to move his paddle to make his kayak go sideways (“it’s like a figure eight”) with limited success.  Then Patrick spends some time pointing out to David the difference between the red, white, and black mangroves, which doesn’t make any sense because they are all clearly green.

David doesn’t argue with him.  It’s far too nice here, hidden among the curving branches with Patrick who is so clearly, uncomplicatedly happy.  David will wear an ugly life jacket and take his chances with the alligators anytime if it makes Patrick smile.

After they extract themselves from the mangroves, Patrick makes them paddle into the wind in order to reach a spot where they can pull up on to the beach.  It’s less pleasant than drifting in the trees, but it’s worth it when their kayaks land on a sandy shore.  Patrick jumps out of his boat first, pulling the bright orange monstrosity up out of the water, and then returns to help David get out of his without tumbling over, which David very much appreciates.  

They sit down and stretch their legs, Patrick continuing to chatter about the birds they saw on the way over, how he’s never seen so many of the pink ones (roseate spoonbills, they’re called, but Patrick likes to correct David, so he pretends he doesn’t remember), how they’re fortunate to see so many birds of some kind or another this time of year.

After a while David just pulls Patrick against him, and Patrick shuts up, kissing David with the taste of salt on his tongue.  They make out for a while, alone on the shore, their kayaks shifting slightly as the water laps against their sterns.  Patrick lies back on the sand and David hovers close, his elbow braced against the ground as his other hand slides Patrick’s sunglasses off so that he has more skin to kiss.

They can’t go too far, for obvious reasons, but it feels wonderful to kiss and cuddle in the sun.

Finally they sit up, a little shy, and Patrick takes David’s hand in his and squeezes it.

“Thanks for doing this today,” Patrick says, and David’s heart swells.  It’s not such a big deal, participating in an activity just because your partner asked you to.  And it really wasn’t a hardship.

“It’s fun,” he concedes.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to come.”  Patrick looks away, out across the water.

David puts a hand on Patrick’s chin and turns his face towards him, until his brown eyes are locked onto his own.  “You asked.”  There’s very little he wouldn’t do for Patrick.  He can’t quite say that out loud, but he doesn’t have to.  He thinks Patrick hears it anyway.  

That night David’s putting away the remains of their take-out (Thai food, purchased on the way back from their kayaking adventure) when Patrick dances over to him and presents him with a package.

“What’s this?  Aside from an already opened and poorly resealed cardboard box?”

“Open it and find out.”

Inside under the blue tissue paper is a menorah, a pretty silver-plated one with a leaf and branch design.  It can’t have been cheap.

“Patrick, you didn’t have to-”

“I always imagined getting you a nice menorah, when we finally had a place together.  I had seen this one online, and when I realized it was Hanukkah, well.  Here it is.”

David just stares at it for a moment, tongue-tied.

“Do you like it?”

He wraps his arms around Patrick and kisses him soundly.  “I love it.”

It’s actually the end of Hanukkah already, so they load up the menorah with the appropriate number of candles and David mumbles what he remembers of the blessings.  It’s a rather lovely moment on top of a particularly lovely day, and David has to take a minute to keep it from overwhelming him.

Patrick notices, of course, and wraps his arms around him from behind, his chin on David’s shoulder, and they breathe together for a while.  When David relaxes Patrick nuzzles his ear.  “Want to go to bed?”

David turns in Patrick’s arms, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the eager look on Patrick’s face.  “Someone’s having a good day.”

Patrick captures David’s lips in a kiss, hot and insistent, and when he pulls back David is breathing hard.  “Tell me you’re not.”

He shakes his head, happiness bubbling out of him.  “Can’t do it.”

They make it back to the bedroom just before clothes start to come off, and soon they are naked and wrapped around each other, hands skimming over heated skin.  Patrick seems to have a plan, he’s wound up and raring to go, and David loves it.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks as Patrick straddles him, holding his head in his hands and nipping along David’s jaw.

“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick says into the shell of David’s ear.  “Open me up like this, and then fuck me.”

A thrum of arousal pulses through David at Patrick’s words.  They’ve had a lot of sex over the past week, but Patrick hasn’t asked for this yet.  

Their initial attempts at penetrative sex hadn’t gone particularly smoothly, back when they first got together.  After a few mishaps they had ignored it for a while, content to turn each other on and get each other off in a variety of easier ways.  David was happy to introduce Patrick to the pleasures of a really excellent blow job, and Patrick was, as always, a quick study, finding that he loved to bring David to the edge and then tease him until he was reduced to a writhing, begging mess.

And David was always quick to reassure Patrick that penetrative sex wasn’t the only way to have sex, that no matter what he thought in the past, they could make each other happy in any way they were comfortable with.

But Patrick was nothing if not determined, and so eventually they made their way back to it, first Patrick tentatively pushing into David, and later, when Patrick was in just the right mood, Patrick asking for David to do the same for him.  

“You don’t have to like it,” David remembers saying to Patrick, one night when Patrick was feeling some combination of bad and nervous and embarrassed about the whole issue.  “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it.  It really is.”

At some point, though, something happened that changed Patrick’s mind.  David’s pretty sure it had to do more with Patrick’s headspace than anything else, his gradual letting go of heteronormativity and becoming more comfortable with his view of himself as queer, but his prostrate probably factored into it as well.  Afterwards Patrick clung to David like an octopus, both of them sweaty and blissed out.

“How do people not do this all the time?” Patrick asked, pressing his face into David’s neck.  “How can it feel so good?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

David had laughed and hugged Patrick tight, too caught up in his fiancé’s astonished joy to wonder how he was going to keep the attention of such an amazing man.  It had been a very good night.

Tonight was shaping up to be even better.

Patrick holds himself over David while David finds the lube, and lets out a low moan when David reaches down and starts to press at his hole.  David takes his time, circling gently, then increasing the pressure, all while Patrick moans and sways above him.

Patrick leans down to kiss him, his mouth open and trailing wetly down David’s jaw, catching on the stubble.  He’s got a hand on David’s chest, and then Patrick shifts so his mouth can continue its journey, finding one of David’s nipples and sucking hard.

“God, Patrick,” David whines, just holding on to Patrick’s hips while Patrick bites at one nipple and then the other, sending sparks of electricity through his body.  “Come here, let me-” David gets his fingers back where he wants them, and then he’s pressing inside, Patrick fucking his fingers.

“Ah – David – oh god, yes, there, oh-” Patrick pushes back against David’s fingers, rocking back and forth, hands grasping at David’s arm and his chest and then valiantly pulling at David’s cock, although his attention is understandably elsewhere.  “Ohhhh, David, now, please, fuck me now.”

“Like this, or…?”

Patrick slides off David’s fingers and stretches out on the bed, pulling David on top of him.  “Like this.  Please. Now.  Come on.”  

David’s helpless to resist, Patrick’s big eyes pleading with him, his hands running up and down David’s arms, grabbing at his ass, squirming underneath him like he can’t wait a moment more.

“Okay, baby, okay.  I’ve got you.”  And he does, lubing himself up with a few quick strokes, and then positioning himself carefully between Patrick’s quivering thighs, one hand bracing himself on the bed as he slides into Patrick’s tight heat.

“David,” Patrick moans, “oh, fuck, yes.”  He’s reaching for David, trying to pull him into a kiss, and it’s messy and breaks David’s rhythm and he doesn’t care, it’s so good, Patrick wanting him like this.  David’s heart is slamming against his chest in time with his thrusts, and Patrick is writhing underneath him.  The slick slide of their bodies feels so good, David doesn’t know how he can hold it all inside.

“Patrick, baby, I love you, I love you,” David pants out, heat pooling inside him, a familiar tightness building.  

“Come on, David, oh god, come on,” Patrick pleads roughly.

David’s hips are moving frantically now, his muscles burning.  He’s shaking, dripping sweat everywhere, and he’s close, he just needs to keep going a little longer, for Patrick, he can do it.  

“David, I’m so close, oh god, you can, David-” Patrick gets a hand on his own cock and pulls, and David feels him, feels him quaking and shivering.

David comes with a rush of sensation, light exploding behind his eyes.  Patrick is almost there too, and David gets a hand on him, both of their hands on Patrick’s cock, twisting together, over and over.  Suddenly Patrick’s back arches and his whole body convulses as he comes, head thrown back in ecstasy, a long whine falling from his open mouth.

David collapses next to Patrick on the bed, turning his head to press his face against Patrick’s shoulder.  Patrick drapes himself over David’s side, arm sliding over his back, nose digging into his collarbone.  They lie there until the aftershocks subside, and then some, not wanting to move.

“Gonna have to change the sheets,” David finally says.

“That’s the first thing you think about, at a time like this?”  Patrick teases, a shaky hand brushing David’s hair out of his face and onto his forehead.

“No, it’s not,” David says.  “But it’s the first thing I can say without blushing, and I don’t have the energy for that.”

“David,” Patrick says, pressing a kiss to David’s lips, then pulling back before David has a chance to enjoy it.  “Are you feeling things tonight?”

David snorts.  “I’m feeling quite a lot.  Seemed like you were, too.”

Patrick starts to hum <i>“Feeling Groovy”</i> and David can tell it’s coming, he can tell before Patrick even gets a whole phrase out, and he slaps a hand over Patrick’s mouth.

“For once could we finish up our lovemaking without a concert?”

Patrick is laughing against David’s hand, and he bites gently at the ball of his thumb.  “Do you really want me to stop?” he asks, his breath warm against David’s skin.

“No,” David confesses, too open to argue even about this, about Patrick’s awful love songs whispered in his ears at highly inappropriate times.  “I don’t want you to stop.  Don’t stop any of it.”

“Deal,” Patrick says, easing David’s hand away from his mouth and wrapping him in his arms.  David settles in, not caring anymore about sticky sheets and sweaty skin.  All of that can wait for tomorrow.  For now, he’s just going to focus on how wonderful it feels to drift off to sleep with the love of his life holding him close.

[longeyelashedtragedy]

i was tagged by my wofe @mothsandmoxie

nickname: i go exclusively by my full name’s nickname, but i hate it too and wish i had a better name. layla calls me “wofe” (or maybe ULLI SPEISEKARTE) and @perfectpiety calls me “my kingue” obviously but that’s about it zodiac: the almighty Sagittarius height: 5′7.5″ last movie I saw: uhhhh...what we do in the shadows last thing I googled: "emmanuel macron notre dame five years” favorite musician: band or solo artist???? the bands i have the most enduring respect for are the beatles & coppelius.  solo artists...idk...enya, omar souleyman, some really good ass techno & trance dudes song stuck in my head: that azerbaijani song from earlier other blogs: i have a bunch of sideblogs but only 2 are active: myrishswamp and papapapineau

followers: 631 following: 268 amount of sleep: HAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!! lately been averaging like 4-5 hours.  on saturday night i slept 7-8 and was a different person lucky numbers: 24! dream job: international politics analyst, record producer, old school influential radio show host like john peel, cantor (fingers crossed!), translator what am I wearing: black leggings, black coppelius sweatshirt favorite food: vietnamese, sushi, bagel with scallion cream cheese & belly lox (exxxtra salty)  language: english, spanish, portuguese, i’m weirdly able to understand more french than i expected  can I play an instrument: i sing and used to play piano favorite song: somebody to love by jefferson airplane random fact: abortion is 100% illegal in vatican city (duh), malta, nicaragua, dominican republic, and el salvador describe yourself in aesthetic things: a big exclamation point.  bauhaus posters/graphic design.  a pink circle with a black dot at the center.  a black circle with a pink dot at the center.  the way neon lights/traffic lights seem to waver in the humid summer night heat.

tagged: YOU

[freehealthguider]

13 Keto Fat Bomb Recipes

13 Keto Fat Bomb Recipes

When you hear the words “fat bomb,” you might assume it’s something you should keep out of your diet at all costs. Actually, the opposite is true for keto lovers.

Fat bombs are bite-sized treats that are high in fat and low in carbs and can be eaten as an on-the-go snack. You can have them for breakfast, save them for a mid-afternoon pick-me-up, or even eat them for extra fuel before a workout. Below, 13 fat bomb recipes that you won’t be able to get enough of.

RELATED: 9 Easy Keto Desserts to Satisfy Your Sweet Tooth

Pumpkin spice cream cheese fat bombs

Thedietchefs.com

The hardest part about whipping up these tasty morsels by The Diet Chefs is having the self control to wait for them to freeze before diving in. With only five ingredients and a 10-minute prep time, these fat bombs couldn’t be easier to make.

Jalapeño popper fat bombs

Ruled.me

Sometimes you want to add a little spice to your life, and these jalapeño poppers by Ruled.me do exactly that. Don’t worry about your mouth catching fire; the cream cheese balances out the heat.

Matcha coconut fat bombs

Thehealthyfoodie.com

Matcha is rich in antioxidants called polyphenols—nutrients that have anti-aging properties and may help protect against heart disease and cancer as well as boost metabolism. If you still need another reason to give this recipe by The Healthy Foodie a try, get this: There’s only one gram net carbs per serving.

Vanilla chocolate cheesecake fat bombs

Fatforweightloss.com.au

With a soft cream cheese filling on the bottom and a hard cocoa layer on top, this recipe by Fat For Weight Loss strikes the perfect balance of creamy and crunchy.

Everything bagel and lox fat bombs

Healthstartsinthekitchen.com

Sure, bagels might be seriously off limits for keto followers, but you can get the same mouth feel and flavor as the classic bagel and lox combo thanks to the recipe by Health Starts in the Kitchen.

Pistachio fat bombs

Ibreatheimhungry.com

When you’re busy prepping for a dinner party, sometimes making dessert gets pushed to the side. These pistachio truffles with mascarpone cheese by I Breathe I’m Hungry are here to change that. Total active prep time is only five minutes.

Berry cheesecake fat bombs

Fatforweightloss.com.au

To make this decadent recipe by Fat For Weight Loss even simpler, skip the step involving the gradual color gradient. But if you’re feeling adventurous, and you like when your food looks as good as it tastes, all the affect takes is some easy layering.

Bacon and guacamole fat bombs

Ketodietapp.com

It’s no secret guacamole is everyone’s favorite party snack, which is why this recipe by KetoDiet is the perfect dish to bring to any get-together.

Cookie dough fat bombs

Ketoconnect.net

No one can say no to edible chocolate chip cookie dough. With zero raw egg, this recipe by Keto Connect is completely safe to eat and will fill you with nostalgia for when you used to sneak cookie dough as a kid.

Garlic stuffed mushroom fat bombs

Happyfoodstube.com

The mixture of garlic, cheese, parsley, butter, and pepper stuffed into these ‘shrooms by Happy Foods Tube will be your new go-to comfort food. 

Strawberry cream cheese fat bombs

Thedietchefs.com

Weighing in at only one gram net carbs and less than one gram of protein per serving (and so Instagram-pretty), these nibbles by The Diet Chef are as close as it gets to a guilt-free dessert.

Mediterranean fat bombs

Ketodietapp.com

As you bite into these flavorful fat bombs by KetoDiet, the freshly chopped herbs, sun-dried tomatoes, and olives will make you feel like you’re consuming them in a swanky seaside restaurant in Greece or the French Riviera.

Sea salted chocolate fat bombs

Dirtyfloordiaries.com

Getting the right amount of salty and sweet in the same bite can be a real challenge, but this recipe by Dirty Floor Diaries gets the balance perfect in the most scrumptious way.

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[bestpancetta-blog]

Easy to  Make Bacon and Pancetta at Home

Curing meat is the reason people could stay put when there was nothing to develop, execute or take. It is the means by which champions and pioneers endured while they ventured to the far corners of the planet.

In any case, the cooler and the advanced nourishment industry — with its jars, plastic sacks and chemicals — have made the normal home cook apprehensive of this most basic and valuable sustenance arrangement.

There is no justifiable reason purpose behind this: All you truly require is salt. Also, the outcome? Malcolm, my 17-year-old child, may have said all that needed to be said, "Whatever is on my bagel is better than average."

He was a test tester for home-cured lox I made while frantically flavoring and drying out tissue more than a while for this article. I had stressed that I cleared out the fish socked with salt in the icebox too long. The outside was dry, jerkylike, not the sleek sort from a bundle of even normal lox. I needed to cut further — into new wild salmon mixed with smoked salt, sugar, fennel fronds and fennel dust — to achieve the prize.

I was astonished by how great it was, and this is no unassuming boast. You can purchase brilliant lox from a store: This was an alternate taste planet.

It was likewise simple. I made it myself with precisely the fish and flavors I needed. What's more, the kid enjoyed it, a considerable measure.

Dissimilar to the choice to improve as a cook for the most part, which pays off each day, the take steps to do your own curing prompts a couple of fundamental inquiries previously you begin. Generally: Why trouble?

"It tastes so great is the main answer," said Brian Polcyn, the gourmet specialist and a writer of a standout amongst the most famous books on curing, "Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking and Curing." "A Ford Focus is a decent auto. It will get you Point A to Point B. No disgrace in driving it. A Mercedes E class? You can feel the distinction."

A moment question is one of aspiration. Curing traverses a range from bacon or essential corned meat to the intricate, grease lumped salamis of Italian or French charcuterie. The last take much work on; digging eBay and Amazon for humidifiers, processors, slicers, housings and pH perusers, notwithstanding building a drying space for exact temperatures and dampness.

I'm certain it's a wonderful leisure activity, but on the other hand it's a crazy measure of work — and requires lifted alert about security. Cured sustenance is, by definition, not cooked. Without appropriate safeguards, it can cultivate hazardous microorganisms. Spoil can be useful for wine, brew, cheddar or yogurt. It can likewise influence you to wiped out or bite the dust. Cured meat that includes maturation raises that hazard.

Paul Bertolli, a previous gourmet expert at Chez Panisse and an early supporter of bringing back home-curing, proposes leaving the more confounded stuff to the specialists. An extraordinary presentation, however it gets confused, is one of my most loved cookbooks, Mr. Bertolli's "Cooking by Hand." He went ahead to establish the site Fra' Mani, committed to everything cured; he gained from his Italian grandparents in Canada.

What I've been exploring different avenues regarding for the last eight or so years isn't crushing and maturing yet drying out strong bits of meat as they are changed with quite recently salt, flavors and air. Turns out our progenitors staggered onto something supernatural: Salt jam the meat by sucking the water out, impeding decay and thinking flavor.

The procedure likewise permits the additional flavors to implant into the meat, making it something other than what's expected through and through, and in addition making it more your own.

To what extent it keeps going relies upon whom you inquire. It's sheltered to state dried meat will last half a month in the fridge without issues and any longer if solidified, which is splendidly fine.

New items like bacon or nondried pancetta go malodorous significantly more rapidly and ought to be checked deliberately. Inconvenience is anything but difficult to recognize: I've seen dried meats don't such a great amount of ruin as become yellowish and don't smell new. At that point it's a great opportunity to hurl them. Don’t think of curing as an heirloom exercise in recreating life how it used to be. Like Mr. Bertolli, many proponents of curing learned it from relatives who did it partly out of love, partly out of necessity. So despite the last few generations of mass produced and preserved food, curing is an art that was never lost. Maybe out of fashion, but ever alive.

“For me, it’s the pleasure of making things you are going to consume yourself,” Mr. Bertolli said. “There is a pride in it.”

I’ve developed a basic and useful repertoire that requires no special equipment, space or even much time: bacon, both American and Italian (pancetta); lox, and duck prosciutto, an impressive and fun little trick that I learned from Mr. Polcyn and that you can brag over at your next dinner party as if you just brought it back from Parma. It cures for just one day under kosher salt alone.

I started curing out of love of a particular dish, pasta carbonara. My family and I lived in Rome for four years, and when we moved back to New York in 2008, it was not easy to find guanciale, or cured pig cheek, carbonara’s essential ingredient, even though we’re in Brooklyn, rightly mocked and loved as the navel of foodie obtuseness.

Romans say with snobby certainty you can make carbonara only with guanciale, not pancetta or bacon. I’m fine with any, but there is no question that guanciale makes the dish taste like Rome.

A local shop, Bklyn Larder in Park Slope, made its own and kept us supplied, that is until I came across a recipe from the Philadelphia pasta master Marc Vetri that he called shortcut guanciale.

It promised the exotic without much pain or cost: salt, sugar, pepper, garlic, coriander and rosemary rubbed over the cheek and plopped into a Ziploc bag in the refrigerator for just three days. To use right away, you roast it for about three hours. It is sublime.

We are fortunate enough to have a fireplace, so I thought: Why not dry it the way they do in Italy? I did, even if it drove the dogs mad, hanging temptingly just behind the screen in the unlit fireplace.

Three weeks later I was rewarded with something I felt I didn’t do enough to deserve: It looked Old World on the outside, all tough and dry, the inside a strip of meat encased in almost buttery, flavorful fat.

I realize most cooks aren’t going to find regular use for guanciale, though it adds wonders to other pastas, soups and even seafood dishes. For me, though, it lit a fuse: I moved from the pig’s cheek to its belly. Salts, sugar and maple syrup are all you need for tremendous American bacon.

Nutmeg, juniper, garlic, thyme and bay leaf make pancetta, which can be used dry or fresh and is singularly versatile in the kitchen. Fish, salmon especially, cures in a few days and makes a New York bagel brunch a special occasion. (I just tried a recipe from Mr. Polcyn curing salmon with beets and fresh horseradish. I recommend it.)

The list goes on, for every taste and ambition: jerky, pastrami, corned beef, full hams. I don’t own a smoker, but it notches the art up with little effort. There are websites devoted to prosciutto, which requires only salt, patience and the optimism of being alive in the year or so an entire pig leg takes to dry. Results, apparently, are spectacular.

A few basics for new curers: It’s nice to have a fireplace, for temperature and air flow, but you can hang meat to dry in many places. People use closets, garages, basements, old refrigerators, a kitchen’s out-of-the-way nook.

You won’t smell much of anything as it cures, since it generally is wrapped in plastic for many reasons, mostly because the meat gets quite wet as the salt pulls out the water. But the aroma is terrific: sweet and salty, with flavors like rosemary and cracked pepper at high decibel.

Then there are the inevitable controversies of curing, which I’ll cover here only in outline. This is what the Internet was invented for, and readers of age can decide for themselves.

Last year the curing community was set in an uproar over a World Health Organization report that linked cured and processed meat with an increase in colorectal cancer. As with many risks, experts say, moderation slims the chances considerably.

There is also a theological debate over whether to use the most common curing salt, often called pink salt or Prague powder. It is a nitrite, and thus poisonous in quantity. Some curers prefer alternatives as safer and more natural. Experts I consulted recommended using it (in the prescribed small amounts) for several reasons: It’s effective in killing dangerous bacteria and contributes to the taste and color of good cured meat. I do, without apology.

Finally, I’ll say that curing is handy (this was the whole point, before history was even invented) and can save a bundle. One recent rainy Sunday, our younger son, Nelson, came home from a day of hard New York skateboarding with a friend, starving, as 15-year-olds tend to be. We had not strategized dinner. We considered ordering out, but Indian food or sushi would run $60 at least.

I looked in the fridge, and dinner assembled itself. A hunk of my old standby, guanciale, sat in a Ziploc. I sautéed it, added some onion, olive oil, tomato, white wine, pepper flakes and pecorino. And there we had maybe the tastiest of Roman pastas, amatriciana.

Took 20 minutes. Cost less than $20 for four. The boys didn’t care where that crazy-great, salty bacon came from, but they ate and were happy. I was, too, and the pleasure was not just in my stomach.