Sunday, April 12, 2009

Jamón Ibérico

‘…stay away from connivers…’ his da told him. ‘…remain here, yes here, while I fetch a glass...’. Conroe Lazare wore short pants winter, summer and fall, preferring trousers during the summer months. His da told him that ‘the bastard Lazare’ should be avoided at all costs; and were he to run into him he must run willy-nilly, and quickly in the other direction. His da had strange ideas about how things should be; like how the world worked (with wheels and cogs, levers and spinners) or why the Mint didn’t just print more money when he was down at the heel. Things like that; strange things.

His da enjoyed a good ham supper; Smoked Pork Neck and/or Smoked Pig's foot or Hog jowl, a Schinkenspeck Picnic Ham or a Kassler Rippchen or Kassler Deviled
Country Ham, either Brine-cured or Pumped, Wet-cured or dry, Ham Xuanwei and Ham Yunnan, Capocolla and Bayonne Ham, or a delicate Jambon Bayonne or a Bauerschinken Jamón Ibérico. Wednesdays he dined on braised cows’ tongue; Tuesdays it was sautéed whitefish; Thursdays he enjoyed a tuna fish sandwich and a glass of buttermilk; Fridays were reserved for poached eggs and rye bread, lightly toasted; Mondays and Saturdays he ate like a bird, and on Sundays he didn’t eat at all, having lost his appetite and the will to go on, both of which he recovered and had possession of come Monday morning.

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