El Museo del Jamón

Aracena is a fairly typical Andalusian pueblo, all white-washed buildings and fountain-centered plazas, tucked away in the mountains of rural northern Huelva. Over an hour's drive from the nearest city, it's verging on the middle of nowhere, except for when it comes to the jamón industry, of which it is virtually the centre of the world.

Or one of four centres (if that's possible?) of the world to be precise; The area around the sierra is one four denominacion de origen, marking jamón of particularly high quality in Spain. The others include Dehesa de Extremadura, Badajoz; Jamon de Guijuelo, Salamanca; and Los Pedroches in Cordoba.

Naturally, upon arriving in Aracena, my first stop was the Museo del Jamón...

Greeted by a wall of hanging hams... Mmm, que huele!

A statue of Alberto Germán Franco, outside the museum, "a tribute to all the people who have worked in the Iberian Pig Sector". I'm proud to be able to claim that applies to me!

Las Terrazas

You're never far from the many Spanish traditions in Sevilla... Particularly at tapas bar Las Terrazas, where a little slice of almost every aspect of Andaluz life sits present and correct, perched on a corner in the Barrio Santa Cruz. Faded old photos of long-passed family members. Trinkets, contraptions and gizmos from bye-gone times. A depiction of a nameless Señora, dressed for flamenco, a tear of passion in her eye. The head of el torro protudes proudly from the wall, staring at the enviable selection of embutidos hanging across the room. A trio of 'retired' carving knives displayed like memorials to the many hundreds of legs of jamón they've cut in their vidas laborales...

Going the whole hog

I've now been away for thirteen days. And on every single one of those days I've eaten jamon in some form or another.

In tortillas and croquettes, whilst sipping a beer before it's gets to ciner (dinner) time. In pintxo, alongside everything from anchovie to asparagus, mushrooms to morcilla, and almost every other ingredient imaginable in the bars of San Sebastian. Stuffed into chunks of fresh baguette from the markets for a cheap mid-morning breakfast or late evening supper. In bocadillos when I haven't fancied a sit down meal. In a refrito with steamed broccoli one long lunchtime. Whole raciones (portions) when I really need a ham hit, or media-raciones if I'm feeling slightly less indulgent. As an appetiser in what was one of the best meals of my life to date. On a pizza, although I'm not sure that really counts... I've even found myself wandering into fancy-looking charcuterías now and again, and ordering a couple of slices of the best on the racks, just to see what a 90-euro per kilogram ham tastes like. It does, of course, taste very, very good, although at that price, a couple of slices is all you need to find out. And if ever there's been a day when I haven't eaten any ham, then I've more than made up for it in chorizo, lomo, morcilla, and many other piggy dishes.  

But it's time to get a bit of perspective. Whilst jamon is a ludicrously tasty, subtly varied, hand crafted, and fairly sustainable product, it also appears on my plate only as a result of an animal being killed. I'm definitely not considering becoming a vegetarian any time soon - it would be difficult in Northern Spain - but I do occasionally feel pangs of guilt-fueled gluttony as I tuck into yet another piece of pig. 

So today I'm setting myself a challenge. If I must insist on having jamon at every given opportunity, then I feel like I need to get a bit closer to the animal which I'm eating. Over the course of the next year, I'm making it my mission to take part in each stage of the process of making jamon: From birthing the piglet, to carving a slice off the bone, and everything in between. And, yes, that means the slaughter too...

[Thanks to Su-Lin for the excellent photo - so much better than any of mine] 

Ham is where the heart is

I remember the day like it was yesterday. The kind of barmy late September afternoon that makes you forget winter ever existed. It was a Thursday, around 3pm, and I'd engineered a 'meeting' that allowed me to skip work for the rest of the day in favour of a trip to Borough Market. I'd gone in search of Mediterranean produce for a feast I was cooking the following day, inspired by a week long stage at Moro.

Clutching a loaf of the perfect sourdough for my Moroccan bread salad starter, I headed to Brindisa to sample their fine selection of jamon. I stood at the counter, five legs of dark, glistening meat in front of me, the ham carver behind them, carefully trimming off inviting little slivers.

I chatted to the carver as he sliced, discussing the characteristics of each ham, each of them with a distinct, nutty flavour. Each of them entirely unique. He told me about how the pata negra or black pigs roam in a dense woodland area, almost the size of Wales. He told me how they graze on acorns that fall from the oak trees, some of them over two thousand years old. He told me about the animal husbandry, the farmers who tend to the them, and how when the men go out to bring the pigs in for slaughter, they sometimes don't return for days. He told me about the curing process, the air drying, sometimes for 24 months or more, and how the subtle climactic differences brought about by the geography of the curing houses has such a profound effect on the finished product. I stood there and listened for at least half an hour, completely and utterly compelled.

In front of me lay some of the finest examples of jamon iberico in the country, if not the world. A meat that is intrinsically related to it's surroundings – a true product of nature, enhanced by craft skills that haven't changed for generations, plus the investment of a lot of time, effort, and love. I left the shop with a few slices of sweet, nutty Extramadura de Bellota, a couple of pots of ham fat, a bag of iberico bones, and a very big smile on my face.

The jamon itself went down a treat the following evening. I used it in a pre-dinner tapa, on toast smeared with a little roast garlic puree, still just warm enough to melt the fat from the jamon as it lay on top. The bones, however, lasted a lot longer... The carver advised me to keep them in the freezer, using a chunk at a time to make rich, deeply flavoured stock. In fact, those humble bones contain so much flavour, you can use each one again and again – three times at least, if you're lucky. They made their mark on many a meal; With lentils in a thick, comforting winter soup; In a braise with a smoked ham hock and white beans, for one of the most flavoursome - and cheap – Sunday dinners I've had in a long time; Added to caramelised onions for an Iberian take on the classic French onion soup; and in a rich, hearty, and supremely unctuous Basque-style chicken stew. And they're still going... I even gave away the final - unused - bones as leaving gifts. (You lucky boys!)

It's funny how little acts sometimes make such a big impression... Who would have thought a bag of pig bones could change the course of my life forever? With each and every meal I made with them, I thought more and more about the process that brought about these incredible flavours. I suppose you could say I developed something of an obsession with jamon, or at least a very strong desire to find out more.

And so yesterday, I left London for Spain, where I'll be living for the foreseeable future, in search of the finest jamon in the land! As I type, I'm sat in a pintxo bar in the casco viejo de Bilbao, an array of gastronomic treats in front of me, and a glass of vino tinto at my side. Over the coming months, I will eat my way through Pais Vasco, Austurias and then Galicia, before heading south to Extramadura, where the black pigs roam free, and so shall I...

Spanish onion soup

My Iberian take on the French bistro classic. This is a dish for the patient cook – the key is in caramelising the onions for as long as possible. Up to an hour on a very low heat is ideal, and in fact works perfectly, as you can boil up the stock at the same time. Pour yourself a couple of glasses of Madeira whilst you wait, and it will fly by.

For the stock

a Jamon Iberico bone (or other pig bone – ask your butcher)

a couple of carrots, peeled and sliced in half

a couple of sticks of celery, cut into chunks

an onion, skinned and sliced in half

a couple of bay leaves

half a dozen black pepper corns

For the soup

a knob of butter or a couple of chunks jamon fat

olive oil

white or Spanish onions – two or three per person, finely sliced

garlic – a small clove per person, chopped

thyme – the leaves of a sprig or two person

balsamic vinegar

bay leaves

salt and pepper

Madeira, sherry, or fino (alternatively you can use white wine) – a good slug per person

ham stock – half a pint per person

lentils – a handful per person (optional)

First, make the stock: Put all the ingredients into a large pot, and cover with cold water. Cover, bring to the boil, and simmer for at least an hour and a half. Make sure the bone remains completely submerged.

Whilst this stock bubbles away, slice your onions. Heat the oil and butter (or ham fat) in a large pan. Add the onions when the butter begins to colour, or the fat has rendered and is beginning to smoke. Cook on a medium heat for a few minutes until they begin to soften. Add the garlic, thyme, and bay leaves, and season with salt, which helps extract water from the onions. Add the balsamic, and stir until it evaporates. The sugar will help the caramelisation. Turn the heat down and continue to cook over a low heat for as long as possible – at least 30 minutes, if not an hour. The onions should reduce in size by a third or more, and become a dark caramel colour.

Strain the stock of all the veg, bones and aromatics. If you like, you can fish out the carrots and celery and chop them finely to add to the soup. At this stage, for a heartier, more filling soup, you can add a handful of lentils per person and cook for another 20 minutes until the lentils are tender. Check the seasoning and adjust if necessary. Alternatively, heat through for ten minutes and serve with a slice of toasted baguette, rubbed with garlic, and topped with melted manchego, cheddar, parmesan, or other hard cheese, and a sprinkling of thyme.

Chicken and ham stew

This stew is extremely tasty, wholesome, and warming. A great alternative to Sunday roast. The best results come from a smoked ham hock, but any smoked pork - such as bacon, pancetta, or even chorizo – will be great.

Enough for four and some leftovers

1 litre ham stock, as before

olive oil

a couple of chunks jamon fat (optional)

a ham hock (or a couple of chorizo sausages, sliced into chunks, or six slices of smoked bacon or pancetta, cut into pieces)

6 chicken thighs

salt and pepper

a glass red wine

2 onions, sliced

2-3 cloves garlic, sliced

a heaped teaspoon harissa paste

2 bay leaves

6 sun-dried tomatoes, cut into pieces

black olives, pitted

basmati rice (about 3 mugs full)

one tin of tomatoes or a couple of handfuls of chopped fresh tomatoes

If using a ham hock, put it in a pan with cold water, bring up to the boil, take off the heat immediately, then rinse. This gets rid of the excess salt. Simmer the ham in the stock for 45 minutes, making sure it remains covered. Remove from the stock, and keep the stock warm on a low heat whilst you trim away any fat from the hock, then pick the meat off the bone. Keep to one side.

Heat a little oil in a large sauce pan or casserole, along with the jamon fat if using. If using chorizo, bacon or pancetta, add to the pan, and brown. When the pork is beginning to colour, add the chicken pieces, and brown on all sides, seasoning as you go. Remove and put to one side on a warm plate. Add the glass of wine, stir and reduce, in order to release the flavours from the pan.

Add the onions and cook for a couple of minutes until they begin to soften. Add the garlic and cook for another couple of minutes, then the harissa, bay leaves, sun-dried tomatoes, and olives. Add the rice, and stir so everything is coated. Return the chicken, ham, or chorizo / bacon / pancetta to the pan, then the tomatoes and stock. All the rice and chicken should be just covered in liquid. Bring to the boil, then simmer for on the stove top for 45 minutes with the slightly ajar, or cook in the oven on a medium heat for in a covered casserole for 30 minutes, before removing the lid and cooking for another 15 minutes, so the dish begins to form a slight crust on the top.

Serve with lots of steamed greens, and a glass of Rioja. 

Casa Cosmic

As regular readers will know, the For Those That Love to Eat HQ, or the Cosmic Loft, as it is more commonly referred to, plays to host to the odd culinary get together. Last Friday was one such occasion, partly in order to say thanks to some good friends for being ace, and also to test out some of the recipes and inspirations I'd picked up during my time at Moro.

So, on the menu that evening was...

***

Jamon Iberico with caramelised figs

***

Moroccan bread salad

***

Roast lamb shoulder, stuffed with saffron rice,

Pear, pomegranate and orange coleslaw

***

Yogurt and pistachio cake

***

Manchego y membrillo

***

Lots of Spanish, north African and eastern Mediterranean influences. The idea was that there was that certain ingredients were carried between a few dishes in a row, with the flavours of one dish were built upon by the next. So the figs were caramelised in some fino (Spanish Sherry), and I also added a dash to the dressing for the bread salad to counteract the nuttiness of the cumin. The cumin in the dressing was echoed in the marinade rub used on the lamb, along with the zest of an orange, and some garlic. The orange made an appearance in the coleslaw, and again to add a sweeter citrus dimension to the yogurt cake. The cheese was served with grapes and fresh figs, so that bookended the whole thing.

Some of the recipes were adapted from what I learned at Moro, others were sort of made up, so excuse me if some of the info is a bit patchy.

After having prepared the yogurt cake, my next task was to make a very pleasant trip to Borough Market in order to visit the excellent deli, Brindisa. My Spanish haul consisted of a bottle of fino, one bottle of Madiera, some olive oil biscuits, manchego, and membrillo – a sweet quince paste which is perfect with cheese, some paprika corn kernals for a pre-dinner snack, and some of the finest (if not the finest) jamon in London. I went for the Dehesa Extramedura Bellota, as it had the richest, nuttiest flavour. As a little treat for myself, I also picked up a bag of Iberico ham bones, which were used in a stock on Sunday night to make an excellent Spanish variation of French Onion soup. Ham stock instead of beef stock, and Madiera instead of white wine, plus a little rendered ham fat to cook the onions in, if you were wondering...

First course was the jamon with figs caramelised in fino, served on toasted sour dough, rubbed with a little roast garlic puree.

And from the decadent to the simple and peasant-like, Moroccan bread salad. The emphasis is on the cumin, so be generous – and make sure you use seeds, not the pre-ground stuff.

Tear up some sour dough / rye bread and leave to dry out for a couple of hours. Crush some garlic, and add to a blender with a few whole tomatoes, and tsp or so of roasted, freshly ground cumin seeds. Finish with olive oil, a little cider or white wine vinegar, a dash of fino and salt and pepper.

Put the bread in a bowl, add chopped tomatoes, skinned peppers, sliced spring onions, and any fresh, leafy herbs you have to hand, and coat with a little of the dressing. Serve with more dressing poured on top, and a drizzle of olive oil.

Then on to the roast shoulder of lamb, stuffed with saffron rice. A bit of a wow dish, according to Samantha Clarke... The flavours of the cinnamon and cardamom alongside the richness of the lamb work really well. I prepared the saffron rice the night before which worked fine, and made a rub for the outside of the meat with crushed garlic, grated orange zest, and more roast, ground cumin seeds.

Saffron rice
1 shoulder of lamb, about 1.6-1.8 kg, boned and trimmed of most skin and fat
3 tbsp olive oil
sea salt and black pepper
juice of 1 orange

1 glass fino

to serve:

blanched and braised chard or braised spinach
200g homemade or Greek yogurt, thinned
with 2 tbsp milk, with crushed garlic clove
and a good pinch of salt

Cook the saffron rice (see recipe below) and set aside. Preheat the oven to 220 C/gas mark 7.

Place the shoulder, skin-side down, on a board and open out fully. Put half, or as much as will fit, of the saffron rice into the pockets of the boned lamb, roll up and tie with string. Place a large roasting tray on the hob, over a medium heat, add the olive oil and brown all sides of the lamb until sealed. Season the lamb with salt and pepper, place in the oven and roast for about 1 to 1 hours or until the meat is pink inside. Remove, transfer the lamb to a board and let it rest for 10 minutes, loosely covered with foil.

Meanwhile, make the gravy. Pour off any fat and return the roasting tray to the hob and heat over a medium heat. Add the orange juice and fino, and bring to a gentle simmer, scraping the meat juices off the bottom of the pan. Taste for seasoning, transfer to a small saucepan or bowl and keep hot. When you are ready to eat, slice the lamb and serve with the orange-fino gravy over the top, the rest of the saffron rice (warmed) on the side, some greens or a robust salad, and some seasoned yogurt.

Saffron rice

Saffron rice is eaten at weddings and on special occasions throughout much of the Muslim world. It is an elegant rice, subtly scented with butter and spice. This dish can be made in 15 minutes if the rice has been soaked. Serves 4.

80g unsalted butter
cinnamon stick
5 whole green cardamom pods, cracked
3 whole black peppercorns
200g basmati rice, washed and soaked in salted water for 3 hours
2 tbsp roughly chopped pistachio nuts (optional)
2 tbsp barberries (optional)
sea salt
1 good pinch of saffron threads (about 100 threads) infused in 4 tbsp boiling water

And for dessert, Moro yogurt cake, which has already reached legendary status as far as I’m concerned. Find the recipe below... Another impressive and very interesting dish. I’m beginning to think of variations, so will keep you posted!