Spanish ham

What a porker

Without revealing my true age I can still remember spending most Saturday afternoons watching avidly the deli counter in "David Greig's" while servers in white coats and aprons carved slices of ham to order for customers.

I knew at the end of the day, with luck, I would be able to buy the bone as well as any remaining ham stuck to it for as little as 3d (1.5p) or as much as 6d (2.5p). Many delicious meals and soups were made from varying amounts of ham left on the bone so I would try to time my purchase in order to catch the most generous member of staff near to the end of the trading day. Little did I realise that I was inadvertently honing my bartering skills for use later in life.

My memories and my love affair with ham have just returned following a trip to Extremadura in Spain.

Like many new arrivals in Spain we found sanctuary in our local supermarket where we could buy basic products off the shelf without having to translate words or even ask anyone anything. Then one day, having previously bought ready sliced and expensive packs of Serrano ham, I was ready to attempt buying a whole one on special offer for Christmas for the princely sum of 30 euros, about £20, including a stand, some chorizo, a knife and some salami.

Ashamed as I am now I thought it tasted very nice. Having wrestled with assembling the stand and then cutting a few slices, a little salty perhaps, but for the price, not bad at all. Only when our Spanish builder friend raised his hands and shrieked in horror at what I'd bought did I begin to wonder what the fuss was all about.

I wouldn't have included all of the processes we went through on this journey if I didn't think that it was important - at least to me anyway. But when we travelled through Teruel, which is famous for its ham, en route to Madrid to buy a motorbike, there were what looked like whole hams, hanging on racks in their hundreds by the roadside, apparently uncovered, with cars and trucks belching diesel fumes within just a few feet of them.

On the return journey we allowed a little more time to drive around the area and suddenly realised just how much and how many places were advertising the sale of this 'jamon' direct to the public. A return journey with an overnight stay was arranged to study this in depth.

The local tourist board was useless, I couldn't speak any Spanish and they couldn't or wouldn't help in any way, so we just headed for the nearest shop to have a look around. We tried various hams and to be honest couldn't tell the difference between any of them. We visited a few of the larger places advertising to the public then we drove around the surrounding area in an effort to trace the source of them from the pig farms to the slaughterhouses but with little success.

The following day one particular outlet was very busy indeed and although packed to the rafters with both customers and products the staff seemed to be unhurried, in control and traditionally Spanish by being both ready and willing to have a chat with just about anyone.

I asked if their own brand was the best or should I buy a more traditional jamon from Teruel and the reply was that "the ones here are much better". I asked where the pigs came from as I hadn't seen any farms locally and without a pause was told: "Poland - anyone with a farm locally would keep the pigs for themselves and family." So my second ham cost 90 euros, about £60.

The excitement the journey had created meant we had quite a crowd for the ceremony of cutting a proper jamon. Not quite as salty, a little drier with a much more rounded flavour but "still not a proper jamon", said Juan the builder, who chose the right time to mention he is a member of the Spanish Gastronomic Society.

The 2006 Christmas jamon search began quite early and by accident after a planned trip to Garrucha, which is further down the coast and famous for its red prawns, went disastrously wrong. The fish market was open but only just, and there were no prawns for sale.

However having already committed the time to studying red prawns, we headed out through Mojacar en route to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada with jamon firmly back on the agenda. Although we were headed for Trevelez, which at 1,476m claims to be the highest village in Spain, jamon was on sale in Ugijar some 50 miles away, and things were looking up as we did see live pigs and a slaughterhouse on the outskirts of the village.

Entering Trevelez, we tried our second mixed plate of different jamon, this time carved on view, served on a large wooden plate with a whole loaf of crusty bread and some good olive oil to dip it in, and it was sensational.

Following the golden rule that you should never shop when you are hungry we didn't buy any in Trevelez even though it was by far the best we had tried to date. We had noticed the price was considerably cheaper back in Ugijar for the same product, but instead we decided to explore the very best jamon first, reportedly in Extremadura, before making the final choice.

Setting off in the direction of Caceres, Extremadura's second largest city, we went via Trujillo described as "one of the most perfect little towns in Spain".

But the trip to Caceres proved why it is still used as a film setting being both beautiful and lively with busloads of mainly Spanish tourists jostling in and out of numerous specialist jamon shops. Not the picture of jamon I had in mind when we set out.

The object of the trip was to seek out the Iberian pig that is said to be the only genetically pure breed and not just the end product, so we set out early in the mornings covering many miles in our search. Three days into the trip and it felt like it was turning more into the search for bigfoot than blackfoot and I was beginning to wonder if I would see any pigs at all let alone the famous blackfoot eating acorns.

How we are supposed to recognise the colour of its feet anyway when they supposedly spend most of their time knee deep in muck. I was even beginning to doubt my own ability to recognise an acorn tree.

Pata Negra, pata - foot, negra - black, comes from the Iberian pig and is a relatively small breed compared with modern farmed monsters. At a weight of around 22kg the pigs are sent out to forage until they reach a weight of 80kg when they are sent to the acorn fields to reach a slaughter weight of between 160-180kg solely on a diet of acorns.

After the season's first rain, the pasture becomes lush and ripened acorns from both holm and corn oaks begin to drop to the ground, usually in late October-November - the time of our trip. Late harvests due to the weather are kick-started and given a helping hand by the farmers to shed their fruit using long poles or the occasional bump with a tractor. The pigs then crack the acorns eating only the soft centres leaving the outer shells until later when they will have been softened by the rain. Obviously this year's late rain meant late acorns and the late letting out the pigs, explaining the absence of pigs, which I should have researched earlier.

The sight of our first truck load of pigs being let loose on to such lush pastures, set among thousands of perfectly manicured acorn trees with fresh water pools dotted throughout was a sight to behold.

Once we had seen our first release it seemed that the whole area had sprung to life with hundreds of trucks and thousands of acorn trees coming into view around every corner. How on earth could we have missed it before? Having found the right time as well as the right area it was time to plot the next process.

Around January-April depending on the weather and the diet and at a weight of around 180kg the pigs are slaughtered with the legs and shoulders being salted for 10 days - the colder the weather the less salt is needed. A weight loss of 40% is normal during this time.

The legs are then graded and stamped, with the largest and best shaped legs and shoulders being given a Reserva label. They are then hung to mature for up to 36 months to cure, developing a bloom of mould during the first month that, although unpleasant to look at, is part of the natural process of developing flavour.

There is no doubt that the whole industry surrounding the production is vast, from the care of the pigs, the land, the acorn trees, slaughterhouses to the individual family business involved with jamon production. Not easily impressed I am staggered at the sheer size and complexity of the whole business. Even the buildings where the jamon is stored to mature are the size of aircraft hangars and there are hundreds of them ... so what is all the fuss about? Time to discover the real differences.

Without giving all of our research methods away we prefer no appointments, back door over front door, same question different employee, and of course dress accordingly to blend in with the surroundings - dressing in a suit and tie always puts both parties on their guard.

The centre of the village was littered with both artisan and more commercial outlets selling to the public and we were treated to a comprehensive lesson as to the different styles in both types of outlet.

One artisan shop stocked jamon from both Teruel and Trevelez and explained in detail the main visual differences as well as the production methods. It was refreshing to hear him speak about them as being no better or worse than each other just very different.

It was becoming easier to understand the differences between the jamon and how to tell them apart once cut, but how could you know if you had a good one or not from the outside? I was trying to ask in the least insulting way how I could be sure that what I could have delivered was in fact what I ordered. Imagine, I said, that were I to be surrounded by hundreds of the very best bellotas you have in stock how would I know which one I should serve for your visit to my house, which one was the very best.

Seemingly pleased about the possible invite and compliment over his products he explained about the colour, feel, thickness and texture of the fat, the smell and the bloom thus giving a fascinating insight into the realm of jamon.

The same question was asked at a larger outlet on the outskirts of town and, although rivals, we were given the same examples and descriptions over what constituted to be the very best. To be fair to both outlets we didn't buy from either of them.

We headed off to Guijuelo. Although actually situated in Salamanca and not in Extremadura, it is home to what many consider being the finest producer of jamon in the world. At 1,000 metres above sea level it has the perfect climate - cold in the winter yet fiercely hot in the summer, and benefiting from the dry winds from the Sierra Mountains. With the windows and shutters of the drying halls open during the summer the whole area smells surprisingly sweet with the heady aroma of jamon, so no wonder that many Extremadura carcasses start their maturation period here.

There was no need to seek out producers in Guijuelo as they appear wall to wall from every corner of the place but we were particularly interested in Joselito's. Never one to give up easily we eventually found it nestled between a milking parlour, a field and a farm with the most impressive front doors I have ever seen.

Strangely, however, the doors were locked, signed "by appointment only", no workers to chat to and there appeared to be no back door. There is no doubting the reputation of this particular producer but we needed to find a back door somewhere and quickly.

We had noticed a deserted warehouse with the name Simon Martin on the side. This was also the name on new much larger premises on the outskirts of town that turned out to be one of the oldest companies in the pork meat processing sector, so this was our back door destination.

We introduced ourselves to who turned out to be the grandson of the founder of Simon Martin, Bernardo. I asked how, surrounded by the very best bellotas I had ever seen, would he choose one to demonstrate the very essence of Simon Martin production. Eager to demonstrate his art he began to search among the hundreds of jamons for the perfect specimen. Finding a piece he was proud of, he showed us what he had been looking for in minute detail while constantly probing the piece with a bone probe and smelling the aroma from the very centre of the piece.

I had come to realise how special this piece was from the lessons over the past couple of weeks, which is why I wanted it. But there is nothing like bringing you back down to earth with a bump than the cost.

But it had been an incredible journey, it had taken a long time, we had been looking forward to it, we had learned a lot, it would be such a waste passing up such an opportunity to taste the very best of the best.

So 1,500 miles, almost two weeks away, 350 euros lighter, plus the cost of the trip, it was good to be back home among friends eager to find out how the trip went.

As no one mentioned us actually buying a jamon, we somehow neglected to mention it as this jamon really is special stuff. Unwrapped and set in its stand it looked impressive and much bigger than before. Within just a few days the great first tasting was planned. Having carefully removed some of the outer skin I first cut and then tasted the first slice and, frankly, was disappointed.

Considering how much time and effort we had put into the project, I was expecting something slightly more whistles and bells than I got with my first taste. My friends didn't seem exactly blown away with the tasting either. Could it possibly be a duff one?

No, we had taken extra care, picked it specially, saw it packed - we must be missing something. Having had the chance to breathe, the second slice tasted different and yet somehow the same. Although delicate in taste it was strong in depth wakening every taste bud not normally associated with regular eating, the flavour could easily cope with contrasting accompaniments such as caperberries and olives.

Now two months later having cut and eaten, with help, more than half our Reserva Pata Negra, each new eating occasion involving it is still a special treat, with every slice a taste sensation or as one of our guests described it as having a "mouthgasm". Every new cut slice allowed to stand for a little while will mature and develop in taste just like a fine wine.

Would I go back to Extremadura? In a heart beat. Would I go back and buy another jamon from a supermarket? Not if my life depended on it - there's no going back.

Edwin and Trudy Cheeseman run the Thieves Kitchen Consultancy in Javea in Spain.

Text Edwin Cheeseman Photography Alamy, Shutterstock