How Green Was My Ham

I think, therefore, I Ham. It’s been bitingly cold and dreary (as far as that is possible) in Sevilla and I need a cure, I need to infuse myself with greenery, sunshine, a delectable meal.  Looking gnawingly through the cupboard I see our jamón supply is at critically low levels, so in a moment of impulse I dash to the car, heading north to Aracena.

Driving out of the city I pass Itálica, the ruins of what was once Rome’s mighty outpost in these parts. These people knew how to eat, and introduced to the Iberian Peninsula the method of salting as a way of curing, particularly meat. That came in handy centuries later when bar owners realized giving out tapas of olives, aged cheese and preserved tuna made people order more Cruzcampo, but I digress. Hunger builds and my thirst must be slaked. Working off a local tip, I stop in at Jacaranda in Higuera de la Sierra, with not a tree in sight among whitewashed alleys and ancient stones of cobble. Rather, a country-style restaurant with a handful of tables around an open fire crackling away, and no one else.  This is not unusual anytime you want to eat lunch before 3pm in Andalusia.

Sebastian wrote this piece in a near delirious phase of ham withdrawal, but is feeling much better now.  Reach out to him if you’re interested in planning a trip to the hamisphere.