When I grew up, there seemed always to be a can of what my father called “bacon grease” in the refrigerator. It wasn’t used much for further cooking — my father’s intention — but was just topped off by him more or less weekly. For her cooking (that is to say, nearly all the family’s food), my mother found its flavor too strong, over her preferred butter, so she rarely sought it out. It’s no surprise that I have taken after both my parents in the kitchen; they taught me much.