Flakier Pie Crusts, Crispier Fried Chicken, Richer Noodles—This One Ingredient Does It All

At the beginning of every month, I make a fresh batch of lard. I swing by my local butcher shop and lug home bags of leaf lard, the ropey-looking section of pork fat that clings to the pig's kidney and loins. In its raw state, leaf lard is tough, opaque, and frankly not that appealing to look at or touch. But render it in a pan over medium-low heat for an hour or in a pot in the oven for a few hours, and it slowly becomes a glossy liquid with a faintly sweet and irresistibly savory aroma.

Lard, rendered pig fat, appears in almost all of my favorite foods: My local taqueria uses it to cook their meats, making them extra savory. I slip it into peanut butter noodles in place of oil or butter for additional creaminess, stir it into my deep-frying oil for crispier results, or fold it into pie dough for a flakier crust. Traditional mooncake recipes almost always call for lard—indeed, it’s the fat most Chinese bakeries turn to for its lip-smacking flavor, the way it crisps and tenderizes pastries, and because it helps make full use of the pig. If you're new to cooking with lard, you might assume it gives a porky, savory note to everything it touches. Depending on the batch, lard's flavor can range from distinctly meaty to neutral and all-but flavorless, which is why I use it in both savory and dessert recipes

Rendered lard can come from several parts of the pig. Leaf lard is highly prized and produces the whitest, most neutral-tasting fat, making it ideal for baked goods, such as pies, cookies, breads (including conchas), and mooncakes. However, its yields are small: Each pig has only 1 to 2 pounds of leaf lard, compared to 5 to 10 pounds of fatback. Fatback, found just under the skin, is smoother, but can contain strips of meat that render into a more savory fat. Pork belly fat can also be rendered, but because it contains more meat and connective tissue, it tends to brown and char, giving the lard a meatier flavor.

From Prized to Vilified and Back Again 

Breana Lai Killeen, an associate editorial director at Food & Wine and a registered dietitian, is also a fan of lard. At her Vermont farm, where she sells lard, she's noticed a renewed interest in the fat. Customers frequently tell her they appreciate its mild flavor and many uses. Unlike delicate frying oils, such as sesame oil, lard is stable at high heat (374°F/190°C). Cooking with lard also connects many of her customers to a long tradition of whole-animal cooking in many cultures. "Part of this comes from the broader nose-to-tail and sustainability movements, where people are more aware of reducing food waste," she says. "Why throw away something so versatile?"

Not long ago, lard was vilified for its saturated fat content, especially during the low-fat diet craze of the latter half of the 20th century, when any animal fat was deemed unhealthy. But nutrition science has since shifted the conversation. "People still confuse natural saturated fats with artificial trans fats," Killeen says. (The US banned artificial trans fats—created by hydrogenating vegetable oils to make them solid and shelf-stable—in 2015, and the ban went into effect in 2018. In contrast, small amounts of natural trans fats occur in the meat and dairy of ruminant animals, but they're structurally different and not considered as harmful as artificial ones.)

"Rendered lard, especially from pasture-raised animals, is not hydrogenated like old commercial shortenings were," Killeen explains. "It contains a mix of monounsaturated, polyunsaturated, and saturated fats and, in fact, has more monounsaturated fat and less saturated fat than butter does." 

How Chefs and Home Cooks Use Lard in Their Cooking

Lard is often used in traditional Chinese, Mexican, and British pastry recipes. Though butter is regularly recommended as a convenient substitute in these recipes, the two fats are not interchangeable. They differ in both flavor and composition: Leaf lard is 100% fat and has a neutral flavor, whereas butter usually contains about 20% water and has a distinctly creamy taste. Butter melts faster than lard, softening around 58 and 69°F (14 to 20°C). Meanwhile, lard has a melting point of around 95° and 118°F (35 to 48°C), which means it doesn't soften as quickly while you handle it.

Serious Eats contributor Tim Chin tested lard against butter while developing his recipe for daan tat, Hong Kong–style egg tarts. Though he ultimately preferred butter's flavor, he noticed a marked difference in texture while using lard: "After comparing the lard-dough method to a more traditional puff pastry formula (and even quick-puff methods), I did find that the lard dough was more tender, and the layers more delicate when baked." The trade-off between the flavor of butter and the superior texture imparted by lard is one many bakers accept, which is why pastry and other baked good recipes often call for a mixture of the two fats: butter for flavor and lard for a crisp, delicate texture.

At Killeen's farmstand, where she makes and sells her own lard, her customers eagerly snap up jars of it to make pies and gingerbread, fry chicken, and even bake biscuits—just as many bakers in the South, including the late famed cookbook author Edna Lewis, have long done.

Of course, I don’t always have time to render my own lard. Fortunately, you can often find it at farmers markets or in Mexican and Dominican grocery stores. It's also sold by companies such as Fatworks and Møsabi, a San Francisco–based company specializing in leaf lard. On its website, Møsabi notes: “Leaf lard is also the equivalent of butter in Chinese cuisine, prized for its ability to add rich, savory depth to wok stir-fries and sautéed vegetables."

Luckily for me, my favorite taqueria, Taqueria Ramirez in Brooklyn, New York, sells half-liter jars of lard. Co-owner Giovanni Cervantes makes no secret of lard's importance in his kitchen. Under the shop's hand-scribbled menu of pastor (roasted pork butt), longaniza (spiced ground pork similar to chorizo), and nopales (cactus) tacos, a note reads: All may contain lard.

For Cervantes, this ingredient is foundational to Mexican cooking and deeply nostalgic, evoking memories of the taquerias he grew up with in Mexico City. Since opening the shop in 2021, Cervantes and his staff have nurtured a "mother lard" in the kitchen, not unlike a bakery's sourdough starter. Every day, the lard is loosened with an equal amount of water to create a flavorful braise for the day's meats. That water evaporates over the course of several hours, and at the end of the day, cooks filter the remaining fat through a fine-mesh sieve and store it in a cool, dark place until it's used the next day. 

Taqueria Ramirez's lard, sourced initially from Casablanca Meat Market in East Harlem, had a sharp and salty flavor to begin with. But once the restaurant began adding fat from cooking longaniza, pastor, and other meats to the base fat, its flavor deepened and took on the savory complexity of dry-aged meat. This lard takes a bit more effort to preserve than the freshly rendered kind—cooks have to strain out solids to minimize the risk of spoilage—but maintaining the mother lard is essential to the shop.

"If you keep the lard going throughout the years, it becomes the identity of your food," he says. "It's generational [in Mexico], too. If your grandpa dies, they give you their lard." The taqueria's lard isn't exclusive to the restaurant, either. At home, Cervantes and his wife use the mother lard to pan-fry chicken wings, scramble eggs, and crisp up tortillas for huevos rancheros and tacos.

Like Killeen and Cervantes, lard is an essential part of my kitchen. Each jar reminds me of the time spent rendering fat at the stove, and that flavor elevates both traditional dishes and new experiments. Making my own lard is a relatively new ritual, and one I look forward to at the start of each month.