Real Food Has Curves

Another week, another ham, all in celebration of our new book: HAM: AN OBSESSION WITH THE HINDQUARTER, right there on the right. It's published March 1st--and it's a stunner: beautiful design, lots of photographs, and (well) a bit of snark from yours truly. Let's just say at one point there's a bad case of maggots in a French charcuterie. (If that doesn't make you want to buy a cookbook, what will?)

But of course, it's not all gorgeousness. Recipe-testing is a mess. Our kitchen gets the industrial treatment on a daily basis. I can't tell you how many bottles of counter cleaner I go through in a month. Amazing. All this food, at a constant pace, with more books to come. Whew. No wonder I need a vacation. But not from ham.

This week, I'm writing about the second of the four types of ham: a fresh ham. Last week, we did the wet cure. Now we're taking on the most elemental way to make a ham: a big pork roast, not smoked, not cured in any way.

In the book, there are lots of recipes for leftovers, for smaller portions, but I thought I'd share with you one of my favorite dishes Bruce created: the ham cacciatore.

Cacciatore is one of those peasant dishes that’s gotten shellacked with culinary pretension. It’s supposed to be hearty fare, made with what you have in your larder (as if you had a larder) with whatever your hunter husband (or wife, as in Alaska) brings home from the day’s trek. Nobody really makes it with a fresh ham—which is an utter shame because we sat around the kitchen and slurped this thing down until there wasn’t much left.

Start out by heating a large Dutch oven over medium heat, then swirl in 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add 4 ounces diced bacon and cook, stirring often, until frizzled and ready to eat, about 4 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the bacon from the pan to a small plate.

Set a 4 1/2- to 5-pound boneless fresh ham in the pot and brown it well on all sides, spooning up some of the fat in the bottom to baste it and turning it every once in a while, until all sides are well browned. Don't skimp and gray the meat—really brown it. It should take about 15 minutes to get the job done. Transfer the ham to a cutting board and drain off all but about 2 tablespoons of the fat in the pan.

Add 2 medium onions, cut in half, then those halves sliced into paper-thin half-moons. Cook, stirring often, until softened and a bit translucent, about 3 minutes.

Stir in 2 medium cored and chopped green bell peppers, 2 medium carrots, and 3 minced garlic cloves. Continue cooking and stirring until everything’s quite aromatic, about 3 minutes.

Add 12 ounces sliced cremini or white button mushrooms, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper. Those mushrooms are packed with moisture in and among their porous cells; you want all that liquid (sometimes called the “liqueur”) to fall out of suspension, coat the bottom of the pan, and then boil away to a thick glaze. You’ll notice a definite pick-up of moisture, then it will start simmering away. Stir and stir to keep everything from sticking. Depending on how long the mushrooms have sat on the grocery store’s shelf, it should take between 4 and 7 minutes.

Pour in 1 cup dry vermouth or dry white wine wine and continue simmering until that added liquid has been reduced by half. Don’t get out a measuring cup. Just eye-ball it to determine when there’s about half the wine left, maybe 3 or 4 minutes. Also, scrape up any browned bits in the pot.

Add 3 1/2 cups canned diced tomatoes, 1 tablespoon minced oregano leaves, 2 teaspoons minced rosemary leaves, and 1 teaspoon stemmed thyme leaves. Once the whole thing's back at a simmer, return the bacon and any of its accumulated juices to the pan. Then nestle the ham into the simmering sauce, adding any juices that may be on the plate or cutting board.

Once the whole thing comes back to a real simmer, cover the pan and reduce the heat to low. Simmer slowly, turning occasionally, until the meat is tender when pierced with a fork, 3 1/2 to 4 hours. Carefully remove the ham from the pot with silicon mitts or a big metal spatula; let it rest on a cutting or carving board for 15 minutes while the sauce sits covered in the pan off the heat. Then slice the ham and serve the pieces with the tomato sauce napped on top.

Sheer hammy bliss, one of many in the book. And how do all these recipes get created? With Bruce cooking, of course. And often, with me sprawled out on the kitchen floor with Dreydl next to me. I read and take notes (Dreydl mostly sleeps) and we figure out what in the world Bruce is going at the stove. Before cleaning up the kitchen, of course.