Now the law says that you must produce your ham from Italian pigs, either pure-breed or cross-breeds derived from Italian Large White, Landrance and Duroc animals, that must be born and raised in one of eleven specified regions of Central-Northern Italy. To be certified by the Instituto Parma Qualità (IPQ) the hind legs of the pig must also carry an indelible tattoo put on within 30 days of being born, which shows the date and place of birth, and the breeder’s code. The pigs are raised in huts, which increases their fat, and fed on a diet of grain and whey from the production of Parmesan cheese. The idea is similar to the ‘West Country cycle’ that used to be followed in Somerset, which you have to chant, like a nursery rhyme: ‘The cows eat the grass, then give the milk that makes the cheese, that gives the whey, that is fed to the pigs, who make the muck to grow the grass that the cows eat.’
When a pig is slaughtered (at a minimum of 9 months, and weighing at least 140 kilos), the code of the abattoir in which it is slaughtered will be fire-branded on to its skin. It will be kept in cold rooms to harden, then pressed and cleaned and trimmed of some of its fat to give the characteristic ‘chicken drumstick’ shape. Then, at the salting stage, it will have a metal seal attached to the ham that bears the initials (CPP) of the Consortium and the date that curing began. The salt master (maestro salatore) controls the salt levels, temperature and humidity, so that the flesh absorbs only enough salt to keep the meat tasting sweet. Next, the hams hang for 70 days in refrigerated rooms, before being washed and brushed to remove excess salt, and then hung for three months in well-ventilated rooms with large windows that are opened to let the famous aromatic breezes through. After this, they are greased with minced lard and salt, and then finished in dark, cellar-like rooms for at least a year, but sometimes up to 30 months.
At last, at the end of curing, the ham must meet certain taste and appearance requirements. Its colour can be from pale to deep rose, and the fat should be white or rosy, but not yellow. The flavour should be rich and sweet, and the texture velvety but slightly chewy. Only if it satisfies all these criteria is it awarded the five-pointed ducal crown of Parma, which is branded into the skin, together with the producer’s identification code. So, in theory, it should be traceable every step of the way – though the Consorzio continues to prosecute the makers of the hundreds of imitations it tracks down around the world.
In the region of the Po valley, near Parma, they also produce the famous culatello di Zibello, which is made from the fillet of the pig’s thigh. This is the pear-shaped ham that you see encased in mesh, which is aged for at least 11 months and owes its intense aroma and sweet flavour to the special climate around the river Po, with its humidity, fogs and hot summers.
Some people prefer San Daniele ham, which is made in the same fashion as Parma, but only in very small quantities in the Friuli region – where the microclimate is different, and the pigs roam free, feeding on acorns in the woods. Unlike Parma ham, in which the trotter of the pig is taken from the leg, on a San Daniele ham the trotter is left on and the meat tends to be lean, with a stronger flavour, as the pigs develop more muscle from their exercise.
Despite all the noise about Parma, my ultimate ham is prosciutto di Cinta Senese from Umbria. The Cinta Senese are a smallish breed of pig, dating back to the Middle Ages, that you sometimes see depicted in old paintings. They are very beautiful: dark brown with a white stripe or ‘belt’ (cinta); and are very agile because they were bred to live in the wild, and if they run at you, you have to move fast, because they really are quite scary. They are reared around Siena and, before the Fifties, most people would have kept one in the backyard, but when everyone began intensively producing bigger pigs to satisfy the lust for Parma ham, they almost became extinct. Now, because of the revival of interest, they have been saved. Because they are allowed to wander freely around the woods, picking up acorns or chestnuts, they produce lean, deep red hams, with a quite hard surround of fat, which I think give the perfect balance of long-lasting sweet-savoury flavour and aroma.
I always buy whole salame and hams, and slice them at home, because so much of the magic comes with the release of the aroma as it is cut – but then I am so dedicated to salumi that I have a slicing machine at home as well as at Locanda. Otherwise, I recommend you buy your prosciutto crudo from a good delicatessen and ask them to slice it for you, because slicing is a skilled thing. You want it to be cut very thinly to show off its delicacy of texture and flavour – but not so thinly that it ends up in shreds. The pig has been killed once – you don’t want to kill it again with terrible slicing.
Salami is easier to slice yourself at home, provided you have a very sharp knife, but, again, if you prefer, have them slice it for you at a delicatessen. Personally, I would never buy any salami or ham that was sliced and pre-packed, because so much flavour is lost – and anyway I never buy anything I can’t smell beforehand.
Remember that cured meats were being made long before fridges – that is precisely why they were invented, because there was no other way to keep meat without it going off – so they would have been kept in a cool cellar or pantry. In the fridge the cold temporarily deadens the aromas and flavours, so always bring your salami or ham out of the fridge a while before serving, so that you enjoy it at its very best.
Prosciutto e fichi Parma ham and figs
Figs are so sexy, aren’t they? When you open them up they have that beautiful lattice work between the flesh and they seem almost alive. With their sweetness and the sweet fattiness of the ham you have a combination that has entered our taste code and one that we will always love – it is the same with ham served with the best, sweetest melon. Even in a restaurant such as Locanda, when either fruit comes into season and we offer it with a plate of ham, that is all people want to eat. And don’t say it’s a simple dish: because first someone has to produce that brilliant ham.
This is barely even a recipe. Just peel the figs – or you can leave the skin on – and cut them into quarters, then arrange on plates with slices of Parma ham. Mediterranean figs, in season from the end of August until the end of September, are the best, as they are picked from the tree when they are ripe and then transported quickly. This means they are juicier than ones that come from further away, which tend to be harvested while they are still green.
Bresaola di cervo e sedano di Verona Cured venison with celeriac and black truffle
Cured venison is made from a whole loin. You’ll find it in good Italian delis, and they should slice it for you. If the loin is small, you will need around thirty slices; if it is larger, use less. You only need half the head of celeriac for this recipe, so you can use the rest for another dish – perhaps the celeriac purée on page 108. The mayonnaise is a little sharper than usual in order to cut through the richness of the venison. If you can’t find fresh black truffles, make the dish without any truffle at all rather than using truffles from jars or truffle oil, which is usually chemically flavoured.
½ head of celeriac
1 teaspoon English mustard
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons mayonnaise (see page 53)
20g fresh black truffle (optional)
30 slices of cured venison
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
salt