A SaltyTale – Part I

Vegetarians you might want to look away with this one.It gets bloody!

I live in France, the land of the foodie; furthermore I live in rural foodie land where fast food means it only takes a couple of hours and twenty different apero’s to down before the dish is cooked.Here, there is still a strong tradition of bottling, pickling (self and vegetables) salting and otherwise preserving the fat of this land.

Enter James – henceforth to be called Jams according to his French pronunciation. He is a guitar-playing friend of big bro’s and has a small-holding close by.

Seduced by the home-salted charcuterie that hangs from the ceiling in Jams’ pantry said big bro agreed to give it a go; placed an order for a ham and…er…well returned to England for Christmas.

As it happens I am not totally unfamiliar with salting a ham. I have an unwanted recollection of doing something like that when I had the farm. I remember also that a hard hat, hammer and chisel were required to prise open the too, too solid flesh that resembled nothing less than a gnarly piece of wood, bathed in sea water for twenty years and immune to all blandishments.

However, nothing ventured and all that.

The day arrived when the portly porker designated to have one of its hind legs preserved – if not for posterity at least until next Christmas – could be despatched to the celestial pig sty. It required a full moon and possibly other portents, I know not. A telephone call to let me know the deed was done and a master class in salting awaited.

In Jams’ kitchen I learned the art of squeezing the last drops of blood from the veins. This required a great deal of squeezing of the ham on Jams’ part and swabbing any remnants that exuded on my part – cue theme music for Dr Kildare. (Ok, so I’m showing my age – sue me!)

Next the skin was given a quick facial salt scrub to cleanse it and the two protruding bones got an extra dollop of salt to prevent “les microbes” gaining illicit access. That done, plus several coffees, home made choccies and introductions to neighbours who dropped by, the ham was lovingly wrapped in a clean white cloth and carried carefully to my car. An odd spot or two of blood besmirched the pristine cloth – a last reproach from the pig I fear.

Prize Jambon
jams-hens

Chez moi, apart from nearly slipping a disc whilst bearing the ham on its tray to the salting box all went smoothly.Ha!

I laid the ham tenderly on a white bed of salt – oh dear, not enough to meet Jams’ strict requirements of 5cm . Quick dash to Carrefour to purchase another 20 kilos. That’s better now it has its 5cm mattress on which to repose and do its thing.

Iambon entombed

Time to cover it up completely and make it snug. Oh-ho not enough salt left – one more bag should do it; back to Carrefour. Nope there’s still some pink bit showing.

What’s going on here? Then I heard a faint rustling, a whisper of sound. Was this amputated limb coming back to life? Am I about to be clobbered over the head by an angry ham on a quest to reunite with its missing bits? Ah no. I’m afraid big bro left just a wee bit too much of a gap between the boards he screwed together and, rather like the sands of time in an hour glass, the salts of time were creating little white pyramids on the floor beneath the salting box. Que faire? With some ingenuity and a lot of huffing and puffing I managed to insert a flat tray under the extremely weighty salting box and that appeared to put a stop to the exodus. Still a bit of pink shank was showing but a hasty call to Jams reassured me that it was not necessary to trek out at 8pm in search of more salt. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Leave it in peace.

So carefully noting all the details and calculating the date when the ham should be woken from its salt bed, anointed with herbs and what-not, then netted and hung I placed the lid on the box and now await the 14th of January to see its transformation.

I wonder if big bro will be going home Christmas 2017 – guess it depends how it turns out.

Have a very Happy Christmas/holidays/Scrooge time (whatever floats your boat) and if you’re very good Santa will give you an update in the New Year.