Braciole di Maiale alla Brace

In Emilia-Romagna, pork is not merely food. It is heritage. We cure it into prosciutto that hangs for years in the hills of Parma. We grind it into mortadella studded with fat and pistachios. We stuff it into cotechino and serve it at midnight on New Year's Eve. But in summer, when the air is warm and the evening light stretches long, we do something simpler. We rub thick chops with salamoia and cook them over fire.

Salamoia bolognese is nothing more than herbs, garlic, and rendered lard pounded together in a mortar. Rosemary and sage from the garden. A whisper of garlic, not the heavy hand Americans use. Good lard from a pig raised properly. You pound it together until the paste is fragrant and flecked with green. Then you rub it on the meat and let the fire do its work.

This is not barbecue as Americans understand it. There is no smoke ring, no twelve-hour cook, no sweet glaze. There is pork, herbs, fire, and the company of people you love. What you keep out is as significant as what you put in.