Country Ham, Day 1

It would seem that providence has brought me a country ham. Upon reading a Facebook posting of mine last night, crowing about (okay, showing off), my haul of whole hog BBQ from Ed Mitchell's The Pit in Raleigh, a dear pal inquired as to the possibility of my acquiring a ham for him while I was still in North Carolina. My husband Douglas and I were planning hitting the road at an unholy hour this morning, so I gave a Chapel Hill Harris Teeter the ol' Tarheel try 'round about midnight. Plenty of Harris' She Crab soup, Duke's mayo, Cheerwine and Peanut Butter Moon Pies to be had, but not so much with the artisanal pig products. Well shoot! I'd tried.



This morning, poor Douglas, coming up all scratchy-throated and head swimmy with the beginnings of the flu, was in no condition to go on a ham-venture through the back roads of NC and Virginia as we made our way back Brooklyn-ward. Still, just to stay awake, he regaled me with tales of his grandfather's tantalizing country ham acquisitions throughout the South, usually by way of knocking on farmhouse doors and just being his courtly self. Seeing as I'd grown up thinking that ham was a slab of eraser-springy, orange juice-sopped foam rubber, and have had it reiterated to me each and every time I set a pinky toe over the Mason-Dixon that it is anything but that, that kind of talk was making it hard for me not to to get a tad wistful over the pork possibilities. But, I'm a good wife, and kept my mouth pinned shut on the topic, save for the occasional semi-joking, "Wonder if there's a ham down there?" aside when we'd pass a slightly obscure town sign.

And then, as fate would have it, we pulled off to a seemingly nothing, nowhere exit (later revealed on a receipt to be Ashland, VA -- "The Center of the Universe"), so we could use some facilities, and Douglas could find some water to take a Tylenol. We circled 'round an abject Sunoco, didn't easily spy a gents' room, and were about to drive off, when I saw a faded plastic, bush-obscured sign, barely readable as "Southampton Ham." I squinted in disbelief at what looked to be a black, wooden coat rack, just behind it, decked with half a dozen sacks.

Jackpot. Bags of rind-on bacon, too.

I hauled a 10.76 lb beauty up to the gas station register, and logged a deeply informative chat with Ms. Rose, who was just as sorry as she could be that the shop up the road was closed so I couldn't also pick up some souse that was no doubt gonna be better than the Neese's variety I had stashed in a cooler in the car. She advised a four-day soak to knock down the salt level and rehydrate the meat, but that worried me a tad, as the event for which my friend was hoping to have the ham is his and his wife's annual New Year's Eve-Eve regifting party, a mere two days away. Would a quicker plunge be feasible, I inquired. Doable, agreed, Ms. Rose, but it's gonna be salty.

Many, many, many hours later, after cradling the ham like a slightly gamey infant in my lap through Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey and the entire span of Staten Island, I tucked half-dead St. Douglas into our Brooklyn bed, and got reacquainted with my cookbooks. A quick scan of the likely relevant ones revealed that Edna Lewis & Scott Peacock and our own Bruce Watson endorse three days, North Carolina & Old Salem Cookery, Mildred Council, Ernest Matthew Mickler and Irma Rombauer decree an overnight soak, the Lee Bros. say twenty four hours, Bluegrass Winners claims twelve, Stephane Reynaud only addresses fresh ham, and Charleston Receipts (shockingly) is a wash. The muslin sack the ham came in claims an overnight dunk should be suficient, but I tossed the query to the aforementioned friend, as he knows a thing or ten more than I do about country ham and the caretaking thereof.

On his advice, I'm splitting the difference and going with a forty eight hour soak with a mid-point water change. Hammy has now had all his mold scrubbed off (it's a country ham thang), and is currently lolling about in a room temperature bath in my largest canning pot in the basement. Should all proceed as planned, I'll post pix at the twenty four hour point, and again after the baking, but I'm deeply curious as to how many of y'all have engaged in this process, and if you've any advice for a country ham cooking virgin. Advice (help me, Bruce!), recipes, resources and general esprit de corps are most heartily welcomed in the comments below.