Learning through Lard

Days before the end of my Ukrainian holiday, local friends proposed a bicycle ride and picnic along the Dnieper River that cleaves Ukraine’s capital, Kyiv, in two.

Under a warm sun and to the distant roar of Ukraine’s ubiquitous coal trains, we pursued sealed roads and brambly dirt tracks before settling down in a small, sandy cove. Far at the other end of the beach, a trio of fishing septuagenarians waved.

Part of the deal on this trip was that I would – finally – try salo. Salo is smoked or salted pig fat, or lard, and it is the favourite snack of many Ukrainians. And while it’s not what originally drew me to the country, the shuddering quadrilaterals of adipose tissue taught me more about the Land of the Cossacks than anything else.
As one friend opened the Tupperware container and the slimy squares of salo presented themselves, it was as though the hearts and the memories of my Ukrainian friends opened with it.

“Do you remember when we ate salo last Ukrainian Independence Day?” one asked as she tapped on an IPhone and brought up long-forgotten images of them in traditional Ukrainian dress.

Salo is an edible totem of the nation. Calorific reminders of a proud past, and lightly-peppered symbols of an independent future. In it, they see the glory days of Kyiv Rus, the first and most important empire of Eastern Europe that dominated the region for centuries. My friends also see Ukraine’s more difficult recent history. Salo was often eaten in times of national poverty when meat was difficult to find. Its consumption evokes the suffering of the millions of Ukrainians who perished during a man-made famine in the 1930s provoked by Stalinist policies. But the nation survived the years of Soviet oppression when even the Ukrainian language was banned and before Ukraine emerged as an independent State in 1991. As the salo disappeared behind incisors, I saw that for this youthful generation, to devour salo is to acknowledge the past and embrace the future.