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Chocolate Bacon Bark — The Sweet Side of Smoke and Brotherhood

February 2024. Winter in Memphis, 65 years old, and the cold has settled into the house on Deadrick Avenue the way cold settles into old bones — persistently, without malice, just the physics of aging and December. Rosetta has the thermostat set at 74, our eternal compromise, and I cook warming things: stews and soups and slow-braised meats that fill the house with steam and flavor.

Tyrone came over for dominoes, bringing his competitive spirit and his inability to play without cheating, and the evening was full of the brotherly banter that is our love language.

Baked beans on the smoker — navy beans soaked overnight, simmered with onion, brown sugar, molasses, mustard, and my BBQ sauce, then smoked uncovered at 250 for two hours. The hickory settles into the sauce and transforms ordinary beans into something that belongs at any table, any gathering, any moment when people need to be fed and comforted and reminded that simple food, made with patience, is the best food there is.

Another week in the book. Another seven days of tending fires — the one in the smoker, the one in the marriage, the one in the family, the one in the church. Each fire needs something different: wood, attention, food, faith. But the tending is the same for all of them: show up, add what's needed, wait patiently, trust the process. Low and slow. Always. Low and slow.

After an evening of dominoes with Tyrone and a long slow smoke on those beans, I always want something that closes the night on a sweet note — but still carries a little of that smoky soul we’d been cooking with all day. Chocolate Bacon Bark does exactly that: it’s a reminder that the same hickory-kissed bacon we reach for at the smoker can show up somewhere unexpected and still bring that same comfort. It’s simple, it’s honest, and it’s the kind of thing you set out on the table and watch disappear — no explanation needed, just good food doing what good food does.

Chocolate Bacon Bark

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 1 hr (includes cooling) | Servings: 14

Ingredients

  • 12 oz semi-sweet or dark chocolate chips (or good-quality chopped chocolate)
  • 8 strips thick-cut bacon
  • 1/2 tsp flaky sea salt
  • 1/4 tsp smoked paprika (optional, deepens the smoky note)
  • 1/4 cup roughly chopped toasted pecans (optional)

Instructions

  1. Cook the bacon. Lay bacon strips in a single layer in a skillet over medium heat. Cook, turning occasionally, until deeply crispy, about 10–12 minutes. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate and let cool completely, then crumble into rough bits. Set aside.
  2. Prepare your pan. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. Set aside.
  3. Melt the chocolate. Place chocolate chips in a heatproof bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water (double boiler method). Stir gently until fully melted and smooth, about 4–5 minutes. Alternatively, microwave in 30-second intervals, stirring between each, until melted.
  4. Spread the chocolate. Pour the melted chocolate onto the prepared baking sheet and use a spatula to spread it into an even layer roughly 1/4 inch thick.
  5. Add the toppings. Immediately scatter the crumbled bacon evenly over the chocolate. Sprinkle with flaky sea salt, smoked paprika if using, and pecans if using. Press toppings lightly so they adhere.
  6. Chill until set. Transfer the baking sheet to the refrigerator and chill until the chocolate is fully firm, at least 30–45 minutes.
  7. Break and serve. Once set, lift the parchment off the pan and break the bark into irregular pieces with your hands. Serve immediately or store in an airtight container in a cool place for up to one week.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 175 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 210mg

Earl Johnson
About the cook who shared this
Earl Johnson
Week 414 of Earl’s 30-year story · Memphis, Tennessee
Earl "Big E" Johnson is a sixty-seven-year-old retired postal carrier, a forty-two-year husband, and a Memphis BBQ legend who learned to smoke pork shoulder at his Uncle Clyde's stand when he was eleven years old. He lost his daughter Denise to sickle cell disease at twenty-three, and he honors her every year by smoking her favorite meal on her birthday and setting a plate at the table. His dry rub uses sixteen spices he keeps in a mayonnaise jar. He will not share the recipe. Not even with Rosetta.

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