Jamon Jamon in Mallorca

When you invite a Mallorcan to your home for dinner, they invariably like to bring something and contribute to the dining experience, quite often a huge ‘ensaimada’ ordered from a baker for the occasion, or another local pudding. “Just bring a bottle,” we usually say. “And some chocolates if you like, to have with coffee.”

The generosity of Mallorcans can often be outstanding. And I have noticed in restaurants that the locals order exactly what takes their fancy, irrespective of cost. They also buy the best products in the supermarkets, and generally use the freshest ingredients available. And when it comes to jamon Iberico, then quality is everything. Mallorcans aren’t afraid to splash out on something which they consider to be really special. And until I had tasted the best, I didn’t really appreciate their excitable enthusiasm.

Recently we invited our best-ever Mallorcan friends to dinner. And when I opened the door, Jose Louis was standing there carrying what I thought was a banjo! The large black bag he was holding certainly contained something which looked like a banjo! Then I saw a black hoof sticking out from the end of the case, and realised it was a complete, and very generous leg of ‘jamon Iberico’ from the famous black pigs of Mallorca. I told you the Mallorcans are super generous! Particularly Jose Louis and Xesca!

“Where shall I put it?” I asked, referring to the ham, as our current kitchen is not big enough to swing a cat in yet alone a pig, and all our surfaces were occupied with the prep for dinner. “Best to hang it from a beam,” said Jose. “But be careful as it drips grease.”

Unfortunately, we don’t have hooks on our beams and our kitchen isn’t really geared up for hanging livestock from the ceiling, so I propped the said ham in a corner, where the black hoof cast a giant shadow across the whitewashed wall.

“What do I do with it?” I pondered, intrigued yet super delighted to be in possession of such a traditional and generous gift. This is something I would never have bought for myself as there are only the two of us at home, plus the cat, who was immediately entranced by this interesting smelling banjo we had suddenly acquired. The cat approached the ham with extreme caution, nose twitching, tail swishing. Then she took a swipe at the hoof and ran off upstairs.

Our banjo ham was actually Jamón Ibérico de Cebo and a gastronomic delicacy, opening our eyes to new heights in the history of local hams.

Cutting an entire leg of ham, Iberico or otherwise, requires a deft and agile wrist along with many years of experience and practice. But first, you need a particular and expensive stand to rest the ham on so it remains stable whilst meticulously slicing. Then you need a specialised and flexible knife, honed to razor sharpness and designed specifically for the job at hand, which will deliver the thinnest possible slices through which you can read the Bulletin.

It’s a challenging art, and we were rather relieved to discover that most Mallorcans take their hams to a ‘carniceria’ (that’s a butcher to you) and have it boned, sliced and hermetically sealed in hundreds of little plastic bags, ready for eating. We immediately took that as a ‘no brainer’ option. You even get the hoof back which could possibly make a great door knocker or paperweight.

The only thing is, we now have an entire fridge full of ham, which although we adore, as well as gifting to other friends in moderation, looks like is going to be hamming around for a long, long time! Bon profit!