Here in California suburbia, people spend the weekend after Thanksgiving putting up their Christmas holiday decorations. The lights on the houses and yard decorations seem to follow trends and vary from year to year. The tendrils of white “icicle” lights were popular for a while, but seem to have lost favor this year. Those trying to be “green” are buying the new LED lights, but the white ones end up looking a depressing light blue. And, the blow up globes and Santas that were around on lawns last year are not seen so much this year because, like beach balls, they simply didn’t last. There are also fewer of the lighted deer figures bobbing their heads on yards this year. Once, I proposed that we fill our yard with a whole herd of them but I was just kidding of course. The most unique display in our neighborhood this year is a Golden Gate bridge, constructed of ladders, that is lighted up in red, with ocean waves in blue lights underneath.
I like to wait on the decorating until at least the start of Advent. I’m a traditionalist I suppose. We just put up our Christmas tree yesterday, and the lights went up on the house last weekend. I like the season of Advent and its message of preparation, even if I don’t always take the time to prepare in the spiritual manner that is really intended. Yearly, my father in law is confused by my advent candles and wonders why I’m only lighting some of them for Sunday dinner. I guess Advent is an Episcopalian thing.
In our family, we know that the holiday has truly arrived when the mailman delivers a heavy box to our door a few days before Christmas. The box, containing a whole country ham, is sent to me from my brother, who lives in Kentucky. Although he has been sending us this treat for years, there is no guarantee that it will continue to be his gift to us. There is always the nagging notion that perhaps it won’t arrive in time or that he will decide to send something else instead. This uncertainty is akin to the Santa experience, hoping that Santa will visit but not quite knowing for sure. It makes it all the more exciting when the package does arrive!
Now, inside the package is something that might not look too pretty to the eye of the unknowing. A true country ham, packaged in a net bag, looks dried out and is often covered in mold. There are stories that many expensive hams have been thrown in the trash when sent from Kentucky to those in other regions. The mold was taken as an indication that the ham was spoiled. But that mold is a beautiful sight to me, as I know that inside is a true delicacy.
For the unaware, I must tell you that the process of creating a good country ham is not unlike the process of crafting a fine wine. Dry curing with a mixture of salt and other spices preserves the ham. The ham is then smoked and aged. Each step of this process involves creative combinations chosen by the craftsman. The diet of the hog, spices used in the curing, type of wood used in the smoking process, and the amount of time the ham is aged, all influence the taste of the final product.
When the ham arrives we hang it up on a nail in the garage until the night before Christmas when it is brought inside to soak overnight in our kitchen sink. If you are wondering about the mold, well, I scrub it off with a stiff brush and a bit of dish soap before the ham is soaked. Soaking the ham overnight re-hydrates it and draws out some of the excess salt. There are various methods of cooking a country ham but I always bake mine, per my brother’s instructions, in a roaster with some water in the bottom until the bones sticking out can be wiggled. The cooked ham is very salty and somewhat similar in taste to Italian prosciutto.
We don’t see my brother often, so to my children he is known as the uncle who sends the ham, or more fondly he is “Uncle Ham”, a title he is proud to have. Uncle Ham is the oldest of my three brothers and nine years older than myself. He played a fatherly protective role for me when I was small. He made sure I got on the right school bus, gave me his lunch money when I lost mine, and fixed my toys and hurts. And now, thanks to my brother, on Christmas afternoon, each year, we sit down to a delicious “Kentucky” meal and savor those fabulous salty slices of country ham. It’s part of our family tradition and Christmas just wouldn’t be the same without it. I suppose that even if the Grinch came and stole the “roast beast” (country ham) that there would still be a Christmas for the Davys here in California. But, I doubt we’d be as jolly as those Whos down in Whoville.
-Mary
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