SMOKING THE BACON

SMOKING THE BACON

The tantalising aroma of bacon sizzling in the frying pan fills the air, beckoning me to indulge in its irresistible savouriness. It’s like a time machine for my senses, transporting me back to a simpler era, free from the hustle and bustle of modern technology and distractions. I nostalgically reminisce about my school summer holidays when I worked at my father’s bacon warehouse and the bustling Smithfield Meat Market, where I spent hours learning everything about the bacon industry.

At the tender age of fifteen, I woke up early each morning to catch the train from my street to Farringdon Station, eagerly expecting the day’s work ahead. The vibrant activity sounds along Cowcross Street would lead me to Smithfield, where I would spend hours observing and learning everything about the bacon industry.

The sound of bacon sizzling in the frying pan brings back memories of those carefree days filled with the simple pleasures of hard work and delicious food. As I stepped into the smoke rooms for my initial task, a strong and overpowering scent of smoked bacon hit my nostrils, filling my lungs with its rich aroma. The tar-coated walls of the old-fashioned rooms gave them a gloomy and uninviting look, but the bacon sides hanging from the top bars of the structure were a remarkable sight.

Les, a courageous member of our team who was unfortunately born deaf and wore a hearing aid that was never turned on, fearlessly ascended the sticky metal ladder to reach the top of the towering structure. He meticulously extracted the succulent bacon from the hot metal bars using a rope and an extended hook with the utmost precision. He lowered it to where Mick McDaid and I anxiously waited. We carefully unhooked the sides of bacon and skilfully stacked them onto a sturdy wooden pallet, thoughtfully covered in hessian material.

Our team embarked on a challenging mission of examining and preparing every side of the bacon with unwavering determination, discipline, and efficiency. Despite the overwhelming aroma and the sticky conditions that posed a significant challenge, we remained steadfast in our pursuit of completing the task. We thoroughly inspected and processed each side of the bacon with meticulous attention to detail until we achieved the desired outcome. Ultimately, we emerged triumphant, having accomplished our mission to the best of our abilities.

The experience of working in the bacon warehouse taught me the value of hard work, discipline, and the importance of taking pride in one’s career. Something forever etched the memories of those simpler days, filled with the aroma of sizzling bacon in my mind, reminding me of the joys of simplicity and hard work.

The bacon’s rich colour and warmth were unforgettable. After 12 hours of intense heat and smoke, the meat developed intricate marbling and shimmering fat.

The state-of-the-art electric truck carefully extracted the pallet from the smoke room and transported it to the warehouse after processing. There, a highly skilled storeman eagerly awaited its arrival to cut the bacon into fore-ends, middles, and gammons, ensuring that every cut was perfect for the retail industry. Our most prominent clients during this period were the London Co-operative Society and International Stores, who relied on our top-quality bacon products to satisfy their customers’ discerning palates.

After removing all the sides, we entered the adjacent smoke room, which was noticeably chillier than the previous one. The temperature difference was intentional; they used the two rooms interchangeably to prevent potential product quality issues. Relighting the fire in a warm smoke room could cause an imbalance in the product’s moisture and lead to an inconsistent finish. Therefore, we used the cold smoke room as a necessary step in the production process to ensure the integrity of the product.

As I walked into the smoke room, it filled my nostrils with Danish bacon’s unmistakable aroma. The scent was so strong that I knew I would never forget it. The storeman placed two racks inside the room and waited patiently for them to be hung. I was there with my trusted colleague, Les, an expert at turning the bacon. Les quickly climbed up the smoke room wall, grasping the rough surface with his hands and feet. It was a risky move, but it was customary practice in 1973 when safety regulations were less strict. We trusted Les implicitly, knowing we were in expert hands.

Les meticulously arranged the pulley rope, ensuring it was taut and stable before slowly lowering it to where Mick and I were waiting below. We watched anxiously as the rope descended, eager to start our task. Once the rope was in position, I took the lead, carefully inserting a large meat hook into the fore-end of the bacon side and securing it to the rope. With both hands gripping the rope tightly, I exerted force, gradually pulling the bacon up towards Les, who was standing at the top of the platform, watching us with a watchful eye.

As I pulled the bacon up, I used a crossover hand motion to ensure the ascent was smooth and controlled, avoiding any sudden jerks or jolts that could cause the bacon to swing or sway. The weight of the bacon increased with each passing moment, but I remained focused and determined, knowing that we were getting closer to our goal with every passing moment. Finally, after an eternity, the bacon reached the platform’s top, and I felt relieved.

We utilised every inch of the smoke room, carefully packing sixty sides of Danish bacon into frames while brine dripped rhythmically. Despite the exertion, we persevered. Les descended the ladder quickly, and Mick scattered oak sawdust to give the bacon its smoky flavour. Our hard work paid off with delicious bacon.

My colleague Mick lit a rolled-up copy of the previous day’s Daily Mirror newspaper to start a fire in the oak sawdust-filled smoke room. After a few attempts, the sawdust caught fire, and we quickly extinguished the burning newspaper before shutting the metal doors. It was a careful but necessary process.

Working in the bacon trade at fifteen had a profound impact on me. Even though I should have been at home studying for my ‘O’ levels, I couldn’t resist the allure of earning money and working in the politically incorrect setting of Smithfield Meat Market. The experience of being part of the bacon trade was so captivating that it hooked me, and the distinct aroma of smoked bacon from that time still lingers in my memory half a century later. I can recall every detail of that day because of its lasting impression.