The Ham Diet

The Dear Leader and I have just returned from Bologna, where we spent a long weekend being a bit cultural and very greedy. Given that ham, mortadella and salami nearly always featured at breakfast, lunch and dinner, and watching the Bolognese themselves consume vast platters of ham in the restaurants we used, I am struggling to understand how so few people we saw were fat.


It may be that such meat feasts are for dining outside the home, while vegetable-rich meals are enjoyed in the home. There were more grocers than butchers to be seen as regards shops, and the former had fantastic variety on display, not least the radicchio that seems to have gone out of favour with our  supermarkets (so we are growing plenty to make up for it).


Another theory is that they walk so damn much, as we did, though we had the excuse of being visitors intent on seeing the sights (again in some cases, given we made a similar trip last November). All Saturday and Sunday the streets in the centre were thronged with families and groups of friends just strolling about, working up an appetite (or indeed an appetito).


The culinary highlight of the weekend, for me at least, was tripe in the Parma style, which was tripe stewed with tomato and a rich stock. I am a massive fan of tripe, both for its flavour and its texture. Interestingly (well, for me) that tripe dish was, in comparison to my own standby of tripe and onions, on the underdone side; just so the various pastas we had over the four days of dining, all of them done very much al dente. I will learn from that and not always think 'I'll just give it another minute.'


I've made a resolution to make use of my pasta machine again, the particular aim being to make some ravioli (tortelli etc look far too complex for my folding skills to manage). What I have in mind are some very large ravioli, stuffed with things like ricotta and parmesan, but also I am keen to try pumpkin - though not flavoured with crushed amaretti biscuits. I had that combination in one restaurant, and it was intriguing - a traditional dish of the Veneto apparently - but however interesting and (to me) new, a little went a long way.

Not So Bare Bones

The aroma of ham stock pervades the house. A month to the day since I bought the Serrano ham from Aldi its remnants have this morning been hacked from the bone and frozen, to enrich stews and soups in months to come. In good Ba Ba Blacksheep style we got three bags full, plus the knuckle wrapped up separately.

The ham was advertised as 6.5kg, though I didn't weigh it, and cost £40. Those remains must total a good 750g, and even the main bone isn't going to waste, simmering with stock vegetables and herbs various in a pot with the capacity of a cricket club tea urn. When the stock is right - as soon as I finish this - I'll pour it through a sieve into a cold metal bowl to cool before skimming, which given there is a load of fat and skin in the makings may well account for 10 per cent of the volume. Some will go in the fridge for imminent use, some freeze for future value.

As I do whenever I see those annoying TV adverts for stupid piddly stock pots I'm tempted now to say balls to Marco Pierre White. That idea that a magic bought ingredient will make your cooking cheffily brilliant is just so wrong. Good ingredients can help, but a miniscule plastic pot of jellied goo probably doesn't qualify, and is not going to turn a thin ragout into a rich and fragrant feast. A properly - lovingly - made stock just may. Thus tomorrow's turkey risotto made with some of the ham stock has a decent chance of being really flavoursome, the meat and bones backed up by carrots, onions, garlic, bay, pepper, cassia bark, celery and thyme. 

On Friday I asked the Booth's butcher for some beef bones for another stock, and was surprised that he fished out two short bones from what may have been flat-rib, very meaty indeed. No charge - I heard someone say the other day that butchers pay to have the bones taken away, so welcome such requests. That price definitely fits the austerity remit. Again simmered (and carefully skimmed of gunk), but this time with lots of star anise and chillis along with the stock vegetables, they made the basis of a fine noodle soup (per SC damp noodles, though I notice that he had no problem downing plenty). Naturally both of these exercises took a lot longer than peeling the lid off a Knorr potlet, but it's worth it. One more chorus of balls to Mr W.

Duck - no Grouse

When I invested in the Aldi Serrano ham I also bought and put in the freezer a stuffed duck that if memory serves cost £8.99. It was a standby, and a way of avoiding the shops as much as possible over the Christmas and New Year hols. I hate that mad crush, the irrational belief that the supermarkets may never open again, contrary to all experience and the message of major ad campaigns, so illogically you need to shop every day. 

It proved a luxurious bargain. With bread sauce (better than the version I made on Christmas Day), glazed carrots and a mash of spud and parsnip it was the basis of a good meal for four. But the bonus was the cereal-bowlful of duck fat that has since enriched several soups, and last night (a week on) made crispy golden cubes of potato. Only goose-fat can rival it for that quality of crisping stuff up. 

Half the bowl remains - a little goes a very long way, and it keeps for several weeks. So midweek we'll have a crispy potato gratin, not even needing cheese or onions, though I'll be tempted to slip some shavings of the enduring Serrano ham in there for interest and protein, and a thinly-sliced sliver or two or garlic. The spuds need to be cut as thinly as possible, probably on the blade on the grater, then fried quickly in the fat and tipped into a gratin dish and mixed with the garlic and ham to finish in a hot oven - it's done when it's brown on top. 

Served with a green salad or some home-made coleslaw and followed by the survivors from the box of Christmas mandarins it's a moderately healthy supper for pennies. Fewer than 250 pennies if you reckon on 60p of spuds, 2p of garlic, 50p of ham, 75p for the salad element (over-costed as a cos lettuce now £1 in the shops and half of one will suffice) and 50p for three mandarins. A bit more if I go for the slaw.

Over Christmas the most frequently spotted dish here was said coleslaw. There is a small bowlful in the fridge now. What can be easier than grating a big carrot and an apple, plus half a small onion for bite, cutting some white cabbage very finely, and mixing with Helmann's? We ate it alongside sarnies, with the inevitable (and wonderful) cold meat aftermath, and at a small party after New Year's Eve. We'll have more this week one way or another. By my reckoning a big bowlful costs say 10p for a carrot, 30p an apple, 30p for the cabbage, and 5p for the onion. Two big spoons of mayo runs to maybe 20p. So 95p for roughly five times the volume of a supermarket carton that costs more than that, and isn't as fresh by a long chalk. 

And the Winner Is...

Not the Oscars, but my thoughts on the best food of the Christmas break, from which I am returning today.

Of the bought-in stuff there is no debate, the bargain Serrano ham from Aldi at £39.99 including stand, knife and sharpening steel was clearly the best. When we first cut into it my heart sank, as those two or three initial slices were not tasty. It improved after a day or so, and is now (kept in a cold conservatory) deeply salty-meaty.

As it won't last forever ham has of late been included in numerous recipes, like last night's chicken in wine (dry January so party leftover finding a home too) and cream, and our pizza-fest. Such luxury.

Is it strange or not that the best thing I cooked was one of the simplest, done in haste? Returning from picking up my father to spend Christmas with us I was allowed three minutes to sit down, then asked what was I going to cook. As a restorative and with an eye on the upcoming relative lack of veg I did a take on Jane Grigson's classic curried parsnip soup, or maybe an unnatural union between that and potage bonne femme.

My version was a curried vegetable soup, with just one (very big) parsnip though that did dominate the flavour. As ever chopped onions were sweated in a little butter, to which four large carrots, that parsnip, three potatoes, two leeks, and several cloves of garlic were added, all chopped or chunked. Hot water and a cheaty spoonful of Swiss vegetable bouillon powder went in, plus - and this was not planned, I found a dearth of ready-made curry powder - my own version ground from pepper, cumin, fenugreek, a tiny bit of star anise, a tsp of turmeric and more of coriander seeds. Simmered for 20 minutes until the veg were beyond soft it was finished with a little cream then zapped with the stick of ultimate power. It was warming, tasty and even a little virtuous.

If you cost it out the veg maybe ran to £1.50, the cream 25p, and the curry ingredients 10p. So four fed for well under £2, and it kept us going (in two senses) until the evening when the chocolates, snacks and other indulgences kicked in. They cost a bit more.

A Whole Ham for the Hambone?

Though Ruth said I was being foolish to do so, I went early to Aldi to buy - on the day they were to be in store - one of their Serrano hams advertised at £49.99 with knife, stand and sharpening steel. For some reason (it being sold cheaper on the internet apparently) it was actually £39.99. Not surprisingly perhaps the one I got at 8:30 was the last then in stock, the store having opened at 8:00.

The ham weighs 6.5kg, so quite a bit to go at over the Christmas break. It will make life easy when we have friends and neighbours (who generally are friends anyway) over. I'm looking forward to the meat, but having a hambone with which to make stock is a massive bonus. For the next few days I'll be thinking of recipes for the scraps and the mis-shapes too as we try to cut see-through slices. Omelette, pizza, risotto, tiny cubes in paella...

As per a previous post, however, the simplicity of the thing appeals hugely too. Any of us fancying a snack or a quick starter will be able - with a bit of practice - to dig in. It does take practice, as we found pre-Joe when I brought a whole cured ham back from France, nestled among the wine that filled the boot at the end of every continental business trip by car. We had no long thin knife then, and so every other slice was too thick, chewed determinedly or cut up and used in stews etc. 

Cooking with the stuff is not, though, the real point of it. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity again: ham, bread, wine, salad, talk. And more ham. That's the point.

Why Turkey?

Like Santa Claus I have been making my Christmas list, though mine is concerned with stuff I need to get for our family celebrations. Top of that list is a turkey crown. Not a whole turkey, and certainly not a giant turkey that needs to have its legs removed if it is to fit in the oven (Pilkington family in Gorleston circa 1972). I go for a crown as we don't like turkey enough to face the revisits for a whole week after the big day. So why do I then buy turkey at all?

Tradition comes into it of course. We had turkey as kids, so it wouldn't feel like Christmas without it. But goose is far more traditional in the historic sense (happily, with two of my magazine articles currently in print on that topic, ker and indeed ching). In the USA a big ham is the done thing, turkey there being reserved for Thanksgiving (for those creeps trying to make it a British event, drop it please).

Maybe as happened with the move from goose in the late 19th century we will evolve away from turkey. We in this household also tend to have a small sirloin joint, done so the centre is still red raw. Other foods have come in as rather oxymoronic new traditions during my lifetime: panetone, panforte, and Stollen cake to name but three.

Happy those like us who don't have to endure real austerity at Christmas. But to go full circle, a whole turkey can be an austerity boon: sarnies, broth, curry, risotto, gratin, more sarnies, fricassee, stir fry, rissoles (so much nicer if called by another name - turkey cakes perhaps), soup... A freezer full of saved meat means it doesn't have to be an endurance course but can be spread over months. Almost makes me want to buy a big bird. Almost.

Feast, Cost and Value

I try to shop wisely, which is not necessarily to say cheaply. If cheap means tasteless, or past its best, or downright nasty, it's a waste of money. Last week I bought a 3kg ham for £12.50, quite an outlay but an absolute bargain:

Sunday lunch - the ham simmered with vegetables and herbs, plenty of thick slices in leek and cheese sauce.
Monday to Wednesday - an equally thick slice or two at breakfast for my son, who likes nothing better.
Monday lunch - ham in my sandwich.
Monday evening - some of the stock and about 250g of cubed meat used in a main course minestrone.
Tuesday lunch - a slice for my lunch with some cheese and pickles.
Tuesday evening - turkey salmi made with more of the stock enriched with Parmesan.

There is still enough for a sandwich this lunchtime and some end bits and scraps that will be added to a salad of some sort, or maybe saved to go on one of our Thursday pizzas, and more than enough stock for another soup.

The initial cooking took 160 minutes, actually more as I brought the ham to the simmer slowly and skimmed off the scum, so it was an investment in time. But the flavours that seeped into the meat made it easy to face so many times; such stock is a boon for any cook; and subsequent uses meant just minutes of prep, if that.

I saw an ad for KFC the other night. Family Feast (TM!) - 10 bits of sad chicken, various 'sides' that largely seemed to consist of the vaguely named 'fries' (are they potato or corn starch?), plus a few beans and some cobettes (what a vile word), and a bottle of fizzy drink. It cost significantly more than that ham.

Just Imagine - Meat Free Christmas?

I am working on an article for Lancashire Life about the vegetarian alternative at Christmas. Imagine the impact in most British homes of the suggestion that this was to be a meat free Christmas. My son would be devastated, my father (if, contrary to his habitual threats, he makes the trip up here again this year) would pack his bag and return to Norfolk. My wife, however, would probably welcome the change and the implicit health benefits of cutting down on animal fats. But then she also welcomes my plan to buy in a whole air-dried ham as part of our festive fare this year.

The imagination requested in the title means more than those reactions though. The two chefs interviewed thus far have offered some clever ideas, and not just theoretical ones but dishes they cooked last year or plan to cook this year. A raw pudding; Christmas (veggie) lasagne; a wild mushroom and Stilton strudel...

My conscience is regularly pricked by the knowledge that we here eat too much meat - in the West in general, and this household in particular. When I cook vegetarian or near vegetarian dishes we are no less satisfied, our systems don't collapse (far from it in terms of what euphemistically we'll call digestive health), and we enjoy them.

Last night the bulk of our main course came from a huge range of veg, home grown and bought in, this being a vegetable soup along minestrone lines (though the stock was chicken from the carcase of Sunday's roast bird). For the first time in weeks I made my own bread, so that accompaniment had flavour. It didn't have imagination though, something that I clearly need to work on if I am crowbar more vegetarian food into our diet.

To fire that imagination I'm going to have to buy some veggie cookbooks - though anything that features brown rice or wholewheat pasta is banned - and visit a veggie restaurant or two, something that apparently today will be less painful than the last time I did so. That was in Germany on business, so quite a while back. The menu was dismal, and the least offensive offering was pasta with pesto. The pasta was in that state of soggy rigor mortis that comes when it has been poorly drained and left at one side for five minutes before serving; the pesto had no zing to it (I suspect it was from a long-open jar not freshly made). I was dining there because a week of large lumps of boiled pig (roughly how I'd define Germany's national cuisine) with boiled spuds had fired me with a need for something else. The pasta and pesto inspired a return to boiled pig.

Health Food

I find health food shops depressing, their gaunt and dull-eyed staff often an anti-advertisement for what they are selling. Mood and mindset are so important in health, and a diet of grey lentils, brown rice and beige beans is not going to lift the spirits. But I was reminded this morning as I scraped the honey jar to make a dressing for Ruth's lunch how often I use food to try to combat illness.

That honey jar was depleted because one of my cold-cures - the whisky-all-in - has been used several times of late. SC who hates the taste of alcohol had such a dose of his cold that he consented to try one (it's a small measure of whisky, a big tsp of honey, the juice of a whole lemon, and boiling water to fill a cup). Generously he passed his germs to Ruth, who in keeping with her trouser-wearing status in this house acts like a man when she has a cold - a near death experience for her and anyone crossing her while she ails - so she had several of these bedtime panaceas. 

The same epidemic (bit strong for the two of them I know) needed my other cure-all, hot soup. This is preferably chicken, but as I had a load of ham stock to use we had three soups based on that as well as a couple made from fresh chicken stock. Or to be more accurate as regards the ham versions we enjoyed one potage (veg cooked in the stock zapped to a gloopy thickness, then chunks of ham added), one simple soup, and one of the spicy Chinese noodle things that could be a soup or a stew.

It is probably the heat that makes you perk up with both of these, though the vitamin boost can't hurt and with the drink the sugar rush is another factor. But the sentimentalist in me likes to think that a demonstration of love, which is what taking the trouble to make these things surely is, doesn't hurt either. Say ahh, but not I hope to the doctor.

Cheap Luxury Jacobean Style

My reading of the Jacobean lady housewife Elinor Fettiplace's receipt book sparked the idea for the starch accompaniment to yesterday's gammon. I had even thought this one through in advance, buying the sweet potatoes with such a dish in mind. I had not realised previously that the potatoes Raleigh brought over here were not the common spud, but said sweet potatoes.

Two huge tubers (cost 86p) were boiled whole for 15 minutes, then skinned - it just wrinkles off when pushed with the thumb. Sliced thickly they were put in a gratin dish into which was poured to come close to the top a mixture of hot ham stock, the juice of two oranges (rather sad overlooked specimens from the fruit-bowl), a tablespoon of rosewater, and a big lump of butter, all previously stirred together so the butter had time to melt. The surface was sprinkled with a little sugar, and the dish then cooked in the oven for about 45 minutes at 180C - until the top slices took a knife point easily, a question of judgement as they were slightly candied.

The colour was beautiful - I am not sure if the camera does it justice. The flavour too was excellent, a perfect match - contrast indeed - for the savoury-salty gammon.

A post some days back looked at the value in terms of nutrition and cheerfulness of colour in our food. This was the brightest thing we've eaten in weeks. And it had an almost restauranty touch of glamour and sophistication, the rosewater just a background hint to add extra interest.

Hilary Spurling suggested that modern American cooks do something not a million miles away from this at Thanksgiving Dinners, but never having attended one I cannot confirm that - if anyone reading this can offer confirmation and comment on that I'd be grateful.

Big Ham for Little Money

Christmas can be a time for foodie bargains. On Saturday I was feeding eight, and as it was a rare family get-together I wanted to do something better than sarnies for lunch. Our local supermarket Booth's had some 3kg hams for £12.99, so figuring we would have plenty and then some for weekday breakfast I bought one. Cooking time was 2 hours 45 minutes, firstly simmered gently in water (starting the watch when the water reached simmering point) with stock veg and other flavourings like bay and pepper, then for the last 45 minutes with skin off, fat scored into diamonds and glazed with a simple Golden Syrup, mustard and Worcestershire sauce mix in an oven at 200C. Served after the important rest for 20 minutes (meat and cook) in thick slices with onion sauce, glazed carrots and potato and parsnip mash it was a hit. So much so that we had just two half slices left afterwards.

The onion sauce is made with finely chopped onions sweated for 30 minutes, after which plain flour is stirred in and stock from the ham added until it feels right. Cook gently for at least 20 minutes so no floury flavour remains. I sometimes whizz it with the hand-blender, but at we had mash it wanted some texture, so didn't zap it this time. A filling family feast for about £2 per head. Not my primary consideration for once, but compare that with buying in the much advertised at this time of year 'party food' - £3 for a few nibbly bits, £5 for some tarty dessert.