Pass the Salt

We have finished the Christmas ham. Which not only means an end to the ubiquitous ham salad/sandwich lunch but it also means we must be about a week into our annual boating holiday. Having lost track of time, I’ve been measuring the days by ham.

I love the whole ham thing at Christmas. Despite the collective sigh of relief as we pick the last scraps from the end of the ham bag, it’s a family tradition I intend to keep up. The ritual starts  when I collect my pre-ordered whole-ham-on-the-bone from Bill, the Gipp St butcher. He sells Murellan pork (no sow stalls) and he prepares hundreds of hams every year. I also buy Harriet’s Glaze. It seems lazy not to make my own but Harriet’s a friend, a fabulous cook, and I’ve been hooked on her marmalade/star anise mix since she gave me some from the very first batch she produced.

Harriet left Wellington for Perth a few weeks ago. She sold her recipe to another caterer but she left me her Sabatier ham knife. I used it to carve this year’s ham, which was served warm from the oven with jersey bennies, slow roasted tomatoes, green salad and a dollop of garlicky mayonnaise. It’s always the same. Our warm glazed ham on Christmas Eve marks the start of the festive season.

On Boxing Day I attack it again, cutting it off the bone in two or three pieces so it can be more easily packed into the small chest fridge on our boat. (Our neighbour’s jack russell gets the bone, which is at least as big as the dog.)

And then it’s ham every day in the Marlborough Sounds: either sandwiches on the deck or sliced and served with new potato salad; shredded into a creamy pasta sauce or combined with gruyere and cream as a filling for French toasted sandwiches – croque monsieur in the cockpit for lunch.

And then it’s all over – another year, another ham. Bon appétit and Happy New Year.