The end of the Country Ham

The end of the country ham looks rather like a cordless drill I think.

Not having refrigeration and having a husband who likes a lot of meat in his beans, I was thrilled to learn about country hams while back in Virginia. It turns out that country hams are cured in such a way that they do not need to be refrigerated. I had vaguely known about country hams since last year, but had not yet been brave enough to purchase a whole one, not really being sure about the whole idea of 20 lbs of meat hanging unrefrigerated on the boat. Fortunately for Rick’s beans however, we met a fellow while at the boatyard who not only had a country ham hanging over his galley, but had been eating them for quite some time with no ill effects. With his assurances, I went in search of a country ham and found one, in all places, at a Sam’s Club. Still uneasy about buying a 20lb hunk of meat, I told the butcher what I had in mind. I explained that I lived on a boat, had no refrigeration, and intended for this ham to last me several weeks. He wasn’t so sure about my plan and planted in my head an image of flies and maggots. With that in mind, I bought it and took it home.

It was 2 days after purchase that I worked up the courage to open up its cloth sack and see what I’d gotten myself into. What I found was initially disheartening, 20 pounds of moldy meat. Now, I had heard that cured meats occasionally form some mold and that you just wipe it off with some vinegar and all is well again. But I was not prepared for this quantity of mold. Holding back my tears of disappointment, I muttered something about figuring out a way to wash it down. We were still at the dock and my first thought was to take it on the dock and hose it down, but I didn’t want to scare away future dinner guests, so I proceeded to give the sink a good scrubbing and set it in there. Not knowing how to properly disinfect a country ham, I heated some water and mixed in some peroxide and started to scrub it down. Hams have numerous creases (like an elephant), requiring the use of an old toothbrush to work out the heavy mold. Twenty minutes later, I had a mostly mold-free ham, ready for cooking. After slicing off several big chunks for a batch of beans and also split pea soup, I wiped the whole thing down with vinegar, dried it off, wrapped it in fresh parchment paper, tied it up with string, put it back in its sack, and found a place to hang it where it wouldn’t hit us on the head when out sailing.

That ham lasted about 6 weeks and made many pots of beans and soup. Each time I would open it up, there would be a little bit of mold, but nothing like the first time. I’ve since learned that country hams are known to be rather ugly. Calvin Trillin, in his book Alice, Let’s Eat, makes reference to an enterprising student in New York City who, to support himself in college, took to “uglying up ordinary hams to make them look like properly cured country hams…” apparently to sell to desperate Southerners stuck in NYC. Sadly, I am now in the northeast, where such things as country hams are not sold, though I did happen upon an Italian deli in Staten Island where they had salamis hanging from the ceiling. I once again explained my situation (boat, no refrigeration, keep meat several weeks, etc) and the deli monger thought I’d be fine with the hanging meat. So, rather than a ham hanging over the galley, there is now the remnants of a fine salami.