Tag Archives: pork

Once upon a time, there were three friends who wanted to try their hands at curing prosciutto at home. As far as charcuterie went, one was a Novice whose experience was limited to the occasional fresh sausage or pâté; another, a Renegade who hung random cheeks and bellies in his basement with little care for recipes or precision. The third, who regularly cures and smokes her own bacon and had taken a class on prosciutto, offered to be their Fearless Leader. The Renegade procured three lovely pig legs from some Romanians at the village market, and the friends met one evening in his basement to roll up their sleeves and get to work (they may have enjoyed a glass of wine or two as well).

The first part of the process involved removing the aitch bone from the legs, milking the large vein to remove the blood (to prevent spoilage), and trimming the legs into a nice round shape. The Renegade and the Fearless Leader already had their legs pretty well trimmed by the time the Novice arrived, so she proffered her rolling pin to assist them with expelling the blood from the vein. When this was done, the FL showed her how to go about removing the aitch bone. She struggled and hacked, and didn’t make the neatest of cuts, but finally managed to free it from the leg socket. This, along with several pounds of trimmings, went into bags for another use.  The skin was pulled back on all of the legs and trimmed to expose some of the flesh for salting.

(Note on photos: Due to a computer malfunction, the author regrets to report the loss of the photos from the first stages of the process.)

When the three pigs were trimmed (as neatly as these friends could manage with the tools at hand and relative lack of expertise), it was time to salt the meat. The skin was scored in a few places to allow the salt to enter. The Novice accidentally cut through to the flesh, but the FL reassured her that at worst, the meat may end up a little too salty in that spot. No matter, she thought, it can always be used in a soup or stew. The FL had brought a few pounds of Morton’s salt, a choice that surprised the Novice, but this was what had been used by the old Italian man who taught the FL’s class, and she posited that if it was good enough for him it was good enough for them. (We should note, it was the non-iodized variety.)

The hams then rested for a week in the Renegade’s basement, turned every other day. After a week, the friends met for the next phase, pressing the meat. They improvised with a layer of towels, then parchment, in hopes of not getting the floor too dirty in the Renegade’s fancy booze and cigar room. A table was inverted and placed on the hams, and various items at hand were added to provide the proper weight- a case of wine, a case of beer, and an antique wine press.

After a week of pressing, it was time to rinse the hams and hang them to dry for three days, followed by a rubdown with oil (to keep the exterior from becoming too tough) and pepper (for flavor). The hams were showered off in the Renegade’s basement bathroom, and then hung from a clothes rack for three days to dry (fortunately the Renegade, a lawyer in a previous life, had several unneeded suits on the other side to counterbalance the weight). The Novice was out of town for the oiling and peppering, but she trusted that the others would lovingly season and rub down her leg as if it were their own.

Now, the tale of the three pig legs comes to a pause, as the friends patiently wait for approximately 6 months for their hams to cure. In the following weeks, the friends will monitor the hams for any mold, wiping it off with white vinegar if it should make an appearance. The hoofs on their hams were somewhat of an unknown element, since the FL’s previous hams had been hoofless, but an abundance of salt was applied as a preventative measure. The second half of this tale remains to be written, but if all goes well, it will end with a salty, meaty celebration for all of their friends.