I apologize for the break in this instructional series—it was crucially important that I go and get crazy with a bunch of duck-quoting, foie-eating chefs in a cavernous room behind Chelsea Market. It's a tough job. But now, it's back to fat-world: Once my lard has been strained and clarified, by removing the juices from the bottom (save for ethereal bean soup!), I am ready to make the confit itself.