The counterman offered me a taste, and placed a few strips on a neat square of butcher paper. The edges crumbled with little hard bits, which I assumed were chapelure (bread crumbs) but was told that they were just pieces of the cracky crust .

When I slid that first piece in my mouth, everything around me just went blank as the slightly smoky flavor of the thin, roasted pork melted in my mouth. And my body went limp. (Well, not all of it…)


One of the stocky butchers was tending to the task and when I saw him place the raw pork strips on the racks, about to be cooked, I asked what they were seasoned with, or marinated in. He started telling me, until the other butcher hollered over the counter “Don’t give away the recipe !

So like recipe for Malakoff, who knows what is in this dazzling bacon. My friend who I was traveling with, who is more astute than I (even though he was also sighing over the lard), said he heard them say “apple juice.” So aside from a mysterious yellow powdery spice that I saw strewn on top, that’s all I know .