Secaderos, Pork Butchers and Cooking Dinner: Sierra de Aracena Iberian Pork Experience Part 3

More Porky Business in Alájar and Aracena

Juan Carlos Navarro Fernández, Secadero de Jamones, Alájar

Spain

Andalusia

We had a leisurely start and another fine Andalusian breakfast. Our first appointment of the morning was a visit with Ángel to Juan Carlos Navarro Fernández, the village secadero. There had been a minor hitch, Juan Carlos was not planning to open today – having bought a new and larger truck and trailer he had to upgrade his driving licence and the test was this morning. But Alájar is a small village, Lucy had bumped into Juan Carlos on her pre-breakfast run and he had given her his keys. He was happy for us to have complete access to his business in his absence.

Again, we walked along the narrow streets of Alájar between the whitewashed buildings.

We may not have walked down this particular street on this particular journey, but we walked down several that were, to the untutored eye, indistinguishable

Ángel had no difficulty navigating the short distance to Calle Ramón y Cajal, but to us all these streets still looked the same. Apart from a metal grill and a notice sellotaped to the door there was little to mark out the premises from the surrounding dwellings. Juan Carlos does put out a sign when he is open, but his retail business is a side-line, mostly he works within the jamón trade.

The premises of Juan Carlos Navarra Fernández, Alájar

Ángel unlocked the door and let us in. To step over the threshold was to become comfortingly enveloped in the heavy cocoon-like smell of Iberian ham. According to popular wisdom the aroma of frying bacon has an almost mystical power to subvert a weak-willed vegetarian. The smell of curing ham does not have the same simple attraction, it is subtler and more nuanced, its appeal deeper, even atavistic. Humans are omnivores; in our hunter-gatherer past we survived on fruit and vegetables – and meat when we could catch it, and the odour of curing ham reminds us why we went to all that trouble. Meat was important then and is important now, though it has become plentiful and easily obtained so we tend to overdo it and too often treat our food animals without respect – a fate that, happily, has not befallen the cosseted Iberian Black Pig. I am, obviously, no vegetarian but I enjoy an occasional vegetarian meal or meat free day. I would go further and acknowledge that many of us (and me particularly) eat too much meat for our health and for the sustainability of human civilization. We should cut back, but we should not cut out.

In Juan Carlos’ well ventilated upper room the hams hang by their toes, curing quietly. They lose 20% to 40% of their weigh in the process, but none of their flavour which concentrates wonderfully.

Ham curing in Juan Carlos Navarra Fernández's upper room, Alajar

Juan Carlos is a secadero de jamones, literally a drier of ham, though in a well-ventilated room away from extremes of temperature they largely do the drying – or curing – themselves.

Downstairs are hams, sausages and other cuts ready for sale. We selected a couple of vacuum packs of sliced ham, a lomo (a cylinder of cured loin some 30 cm long and maybe 4cm in diameter) of much the same quality as the hams, and a shorter, fatter morcilla (a black pudding, but firmer than its British equivalent). In the absence of Juan Carlos we could not buy them, but put them aside so we could find them again tomorrow.

Produce ready for market, Juan Carlos, Secadero, Alájar

Buying the Pork for Dinner in Aracena

Aracena

It is surprising how long you can spend looking through hams and sausages and breathing in the aroma, but eventually we dragged ourselves away and strolled back to the posada. Ángel handed us over to Lucy who drove us into Aracena in search of the meat for dinner.

The road from Alájar reaches Aracena by the town’s small industrial/trading estate. We ignored it yesterday, but today swung onto the estate, passed Hierros Melcan Aluminios and stopped outside Jamones Vazquez, purveyors of Carnes Ibericas to the trade and the general public.

Outside it looked like a warehouse, inside it was an Aladdin’s cave of pork products, including a whole wall of black label hams and shoulders. Black label (see yesterday’s post) is the highest quality, free range, acorn fed, pure bred Jamón Iberico, arguably the finest ham in the world (though locally they brook no argument) and also the most expensive; shoulders routinely start around £400, the larger hams at well over £600. Guinness World Records tells me that the ‘most expensive leg of ham commercially available is an Iberian "Manchado de Jabugo" retailing at €4,100 (£3,192.76; $4,620.28) [March 2016] and is sold by Dehesa Maladúa’ . (update at end) That particular ham may not feature in my photograph, but we were in the heart of the Jabugo production region, so these are all Jabugo black label hams, the crème de la crème, to employ an inappropriate metaphor.

Wall of ham, Jamones Vazquez, Aracena

Ángel had been, quite rightly, dismissive of some of the prices. He objected to the rich but ignorant buying extremely expensive hams because they can, not because the appreciate them, and pushing prices beyond the pockets of ordinary mortals. I think some recent issue with Cristiano Ronaldo had particularly irked him – outstandingly talented footballer as he may be (Ronaldo, not Ángel!), he has that effect on many people. Fortunately, you need very few, very thin slices of ham balanced on a chunk of local crusty bread to feel you are eating like a king – if not quite a professional footballer.

Jamones Vazquez, Aracena

With Lucy we looked at the cuts of fresh meat; lagarto, lomo, pluma, presa, secreto and solomillo (there are others) are not all unfamiliar. Lucy bought some pluma (top loin and, allegedly, feather shaped) and a second we have unfortunately forgotten.

Weighed down with the pork for the dinners of all the posada’s guests we made our way back to Alájar.

Lunch, Cooking and Dinner (it’s all about food!)

An amble round the village somehow inevitably led to La Parra, the bar in the centre. A beer and a plate of goat’s cheese would have made a perfect light lunch had not the standard Spanish beer glass been a miniscule 20cl. Two beers and a plate of goat’s cheese, though, did the trick admirably. Business was good for a Thursday lunchtime, filling the tables in the little square. The clientele was largely the retired (like us) but the traditional extended Spanish lunch hour permitted a few younger people to join the party.

We spent most of the afternoon with Lucy. In her small but well-equipped kitchen she produces a three-course meal for 12 most days. Alájar is well provided with restaurants so she does not feel the need to cook every day, sometimes preferring ‘to spread the love', as she put it.

Andalusia is the homeland of cold soups, gazpacho being the name that everyone knows, but salmorejo and ajoblanca are common local variants. The gazpacho bequeathed by the Romans consisted of olive oil, vinegar, garlic and water, thickened with stale bread. This rather basic concoction was vastly improved by the addition of tomatoes in the 19th century and once cucumber and peppers had joined the ensemble, gazpacho was ready to go international. Modern variations can include anything from avocado to strawberries (I would need convincing on that one). Lucy had a name for her version which I have unfortunately forgotten; it included beetroot but stayed true to the spirit of gazpacho. It was our first course in the evening, and very good it was, too. Lynne has previously been resistant to the concept of cold soups; on a wet Wednesday in a Staffordshire January the idea is, I concede, singularly unattractive, but in the Andalusian sunshine…..

A variation on gazpacho - a delight at the right time and in the right place (and this was both)

We chopped onions and cracked walnuts, but were otherwise spectators. The Posada’s reputation depends on these dinners being perfect, the fumbling of amateur hands could not be risked. For the gazpacho and the sauces Lucy employed a clever gizmo that perhaps everyone knows but was new to us. Her blender, slicer, shredder not only does all those things, but also heats, boils, simmers, and stirs tirelessly.

She produced two sauces, one with sweet chestnuts, onions and olive oil, the other using walnuts, garlic, brandy and orange juice, a brave combination. We did not see the pork cooked, that happened later, and meat of this quality deserves quick, simple cooking. It was a sumptuous main course, the pork lived up to our expectations, the chestnut sauce a perfect match for its sweetness. I was less impressed by the walnut sauce, the brandy and orange juice seemed to be fighting each other for my attention, but others might disagree.

Iberian pork with potatoes steamed in oil, courgettes and two sauces (out of shot)

As Lucy worked and we watched, the conversation ranged from the Spanish preference for eating seafood cold to the British preference for political self-destruction.

Once all was done, we wandered off at our leisure leaving Lucy with several other jobs. She and Ángel work extraordinarily hard at making their Posada run like clockwork and creating a relaxing experience for everyone else.

Lemon mousse dessert. I have no idea where Lucy magic-ed this from

All that remained for us was to eat the dinner, which you have already seen above. So that concludes our Iberian Pork and Ham Experience at the Posada San Marcos in Alájar, except…

27-Sept-2019

…after breakfast we had to stroll round to Juan Carlos the secadero for the goodies we had set aside yesterday. The time, effort and degree of inspection that goes into producing these things means they are never cheap, but we paid a little over half the price they would have fetched on the export market. [Jan 2020: the jamón we gave to people we hoped would appreciate it, the loin (lomo) provided us a lunch a week until Christmas, each one of them a joy. We still have a stub end of morcilla]

Then we set off for our fortnight in the Algarve where we would forsake the world’s finest pork for the world’s freshest seafood and enjoy a further two weeks of unbroken sunshine.

The information about the world's most expensive ham was correct when I wrote it. The Guinness Records page linked to now has an even more expensive ham but 'Iberian bellota' is all they say about the ham - they seem more interested in the Japanese retailer selling it.

Iberian Pork

Part 1: Alájar in the Sierra Aracena

Part 2: Pigs, Ham and Tapas
Part 3: Secaderos, Pork Butchers and Cooking Dinner

Pigs, Ham and Tapas: Sierra de Aracena Iberian Pork Experience Part 2

Meeting Iberian Pigs, the Aracena Ham Museum and a Tapas Lunch

Andalusian Breakfast

Spain

Andalusia

The Posada de San Marcos offered a buffet with fruit and cereals, but the centrepiece of the breakfast was firmly Andalusian – well almost. Ángel described it as two patés made by Lucy from his grandmother’s recipe, jam and marmalade made by Lucy from her grandmother’s recipe (so more Lancastrian than Andalusian – though the marmalade involved Seville oranges) local honey and tomatoes, and butter from the supermarket (because cattle are not raised locally). The orange juice also came from the supermarket - oranges were not in season and Ángel would not buy fruit flown in from another continent.

Breakfast, Posada de San Marcos, Alajar

Bread came from a local bakery, and there were six Andalusian olive oils, ranging from sweet and nutty to strong and peppery. A slice of bread, a drizzle of oil and a smear of tomato was perfect for the patés while honey, jam and marmalade sat more happily on butter. With more time, a comparative tasting of the oils would have been interesting – maybe we will return one day.

Meeting Iberian Black Pigs

Alájar

After breakfast we walked with Ángel to meet the Iberian Black Pigs that produce the world’s finest ham; that is Ángel’s not entirely unbiased view; there are other contenders and we shall consider them later.

As we walked through the village streets Ángel pointed out the flood defences and drains. It does not rain often in Alájar, but when it does it falls in torrents not drizzle. The drains and even the streets themselves are angled to take water down to the (usually) little Rivera de Alájar which flows along the southern edge of the village, past the garden of the Posada de San Marcos.

The cleverly constructed streets of Alájar guide water gently down to the river

Heading south like the storm water, we crossed the river and looked back at the village. The sun shone from a clear blue sky, but it was early morning in late September, so it was still noticeably cool in the shadows.

Alájar in morning sunshine

Continuing down a sunken lane into the countryside we copied Ángel, keeping our eyes on the ground and picking up acorns wherever we saw them. The surrounding countryside was dehesa (montado in Portuguese). Widespread across Andalusia and Extremadura in Spain and the Algarve and Alentejo in Portugal, dehesa was developed in antiquity to manage land with soil too poor for arable use. Grassland with herbaceous species for grazing is studded with trees, mainly holm and cork oaks pruned specifically to produce acorns for fattening Iberian black pigs. The underbrush is cleared every 7 to 10 years and the cork oaks which typically live some 250 years are harvested every 9 to 12 years. The trees are spaced to maximize productivity by balancing light for the grasses, water for the soil, and acorns for the pigs.

It did not take us long to find some pigs among the cork oaks…

Iberian black pigs among cork oaks, Alájar

…and then a judicious application of acorns persuaded them into a more suitable area for viewing. The black pigs are actually dark grey, their name comes from their jet-black trotters. They are, Ángel, told us, like ballet dancers, not a comparison that leapt immediately to my mind. They have dainty ankles and dance on the tips of their toes, their back toes never touching the ground. I seriously doubt that Darcey Bussell has ‘back toes’, but let us allow Ángel his flight of fancy.

A magnificent Iberian black sow

As we walked Ángel explained the importance of the two oak species, the less nutritious cork oak acorns coming early in autumn and as they finish the holm oak acorns arrive giving the pigs their favourite food and fattening them up for…well, let’s speak quietly as they may be listening.

Lynne and Ángel walk down the sunken lane

Sheep and goats are raised on the dehesa as well as pigs and they share the land with wild boar, red deer, and many bird species, including the endangered Spanish imperial eagle. More controversially fighting bulls are reared on lowland dehesa where the grass is less sparse.

We stopped to pick figs from a roadside tree. I have never eaten a fig straight from the tree before - nor have I eaten one as sweet and juicy as this. Ángel pointed out the huge variety of trees, not just the Mediterranean oaks and figs, but weeping willows by the river and alpine pines in a shady dell. We did not have to travel a huge distance to see a date palm – almost every type of tree can find an appropriate micro-climate on the slopes of the Sierra de Aracena.

Goats on the hillside. Alájar

Another group of pigs greeted our arrival with high decibel squealing. They seemed to imagine our pockets were full of acorns – and they were not disappointed.

More Iberian black pigs

The Aracena Ham Museum

Aracena

We returned to the Posada, and Ángel drove us the 12km into Aracena, a tidy, prosperous looking town and, with some 9,000 inhabitants, the largest in the region. It has a castle and the Gruta de las Maravillas, reputedly among the most spectacular cave systems in Spain, but we had come to see El Museo del Jamón de Aracena - though not until we had enjoyed a lengthy circular tour, courtesy of Aracena’s parking problems.

The Aracena Ham Museum

In the days before refrigeration when most livestock was slaughtered at the start of winter, the preserving of meat was important. Beef was salted and pork legs were either wet or dry-cured to make ham. Today there is no need to preserve meat like this, but we still do – because we like it.

Northern Europe largely produces brine-cured hams while dry-curing is prevalent in southern Europe; the best known (and arguably, best) being French jambon de Bayonne, Italian prosciutto de Parma and Spanish jámon ibérico.

Productions methods are similar for all. For jámon ibérico the weaned piglets are fattened on barley and maize for several weeks and then allowed to roam the dehesa, feeding naturally on grass, herbs, acorns, chestnuts, and roots. Immediately before slaughtering their diet is restricted to acorns for the best quality, or a mix of acorns and commercial feed for lesser qualities.

Aracena has many little statues. This swineherd is, approriately, outside the ham museum

The hams are salted and allowed to dry for two weeks before being rinsed and dried for another four to six weeks. They are then hung up for curing for a minimum of 24 months.

We watched a film about the dehesa and then plunged into the world of ham classification. Spain takes its ham extremely seriously and I find this stuff fascinating - but not everybody shares my enthusiasm, so I will keep it brief(ish).

Firstly, there is Serrano Ham, which can be found in every supermarket in the UK. It comes from any pigs anywhere in Spain, but the production methods and quality are rigorously controlled. It is good ham, not in the jámon ibérico league perhaps, but much cheaper.

Jamón ibérico has four Protected Designations of Origin (P.D.O. or D.O.P. in Spanish), recognized throughout the EU.

D.O.P. Guijuelo is the largest, producing 60% of all Jámon Ibérico in Guijuelo itself and 76 other municipalities in the southeast of Salamanca province, Castile y Léon.

D.O.P. Dehesa de Extremadura is produced in the dehesa areas of Cáceres and Badajoz province in Extramadura.

The other two are in Andalusia

D.O.P. Los Pedroches comes from the district of that name in Cordoba Province.

And last but by no means least, and the most important to us

D.O.P. Jabugo. Jabugo is a small town 10km north of Alájar, both Alájar and Aracena are within the D.O.P Jabugo production area.

But it is not just where they come from, the pig’s breeding and feeding are also important, the minimum requirement being at least 50% Black Iberian in their ancestry.

The four grades are denoted by coloured labels

Colour coding for Iberian ham

Black-label is the finest grade jamón ibérico de bellota (acorn). It is made from pure bred Iberian free-range pigs that eat only acorns during their last two months. The hams are cured for at least 36 months.

Red-label is the same except the pigs are not pure bred. The percentage of Iberian ancestry must be specified on the label.

Green label is jamón ibérico cebo de campo. The pigs are not pure bred and are pastured and fed a combination of acorns and grain.

White label is from pigs fed only on grain, and must be cured for a minimum of 24 months.

We walked through an exhibition of hams from all major production areas. Bayonne and Parma hams maybe the best known but there are many more with their own DOPs. Ángel blamed General Franco. Spain could not join the European Economic Community (now the EU) while Franco ruled. He died in 1975 and it took until 1986 to get in, so the producers of Bayonne and Parma had 3 decades to get their acts together and their products known and Spain has been playing catch-up ever since.

Gloucester Old Spots - Not much to do with Iberian ham, but I like them - and I needed a picture to break up the print

And he was, of course right. We would discuss his bewilderment at Britain voting to leave the EU over lunch, a bewilderment most Spaniards (and Lynne and I) share. Then he dismissed all other hams as being made from white pigs and therefore inferior. I think his understandable national pride got the better of him. There are dozens, maybe hundreds of pig breeds, some for bulk production, others for quality – and not all the others are white. The Gloucester Old Spot, though not used (as far as I know) for air-cured ham produces distinctive and very fine pork products in the UK. I am sure the hamsters of Parma and San Danielle, Bayonne and Njeguški (in Montenegro, since you asked) are as proud of their particular pigs as the people of Alájar.

And which is the world’s best ham? Ángel would undoubtedly say jámon ibérico, but I do not know, I have not eaten enough of the best from here or elsewhere to be certain, but I will willingly concede that jámon ibérico is a serious contender.

Tapas lunch in Aracena

It was still too early for lunch when we emerged from the museum. The town curls three quarters of the way round the arid hill surmounted by its Castillo and we ambled slowly anticlockwise, past the entrance to the Gruta de las Maravillas, burrowed by nature into the hill below the castle, and continued slowly down the pedestrianised Calle Pozo de la Nieve.

Calle Pozo de la Nieve, Aracena

Water management is important in this arid region and the channel down the centre of the street carries water to the public laundry. Affluence has made the laundry redundant, but it is carefully maintained as a reminder of how life has changed – and within the memory of many older people.

Public laundry, Aracena

From the laundry we crossed the street to the Montecruz Tapas and Gastrobar. It was now just after 1 o’clock, lunchtime to us, but far too early by Spanish standards. Again Ángel blamed General Franco, who was so besotted by Hitler and Mussolini he wanted his country to be in the same time zone as theirs. Ángel had a point, almost all of Spain is west of the Greenwich meridian so it belongs in the same time zone as Great Britain, Ireland and Portugal; when Spaniards turn up for their lunch at 2 o’clock their British, Irish and Portuguese counterparts are lunching at exactly the same time, only they call 1 o’clock. I am not sure Franco can be blamed for everything and messing with the clocks would not be the most serious issue on his charge sheet, but Ángel’s theory fails to account for why the Spanish start their dinner at 10 when the rest of us are sipping our brandy and nibbling the last of the cheese.

Early we might have been, but Montecruz was open, and we settled down with a beer, olives and the ‘free’ bread and ham included in our museum ticket, and perused the menu.

Jamón Iberico, Montecruz Tapas, Aracena

We asked Ángel to order a selection of tapas typical of the region. He chose pimientos de piquillo rellenos de jabali y gurumelos (piquillo peppers, a heatless chili grown in northern Spain, stuffed with wild boar and gurumelos, a wild mushroom, aminita ponderosa, peculiar to southern Europe), flamenquin de carillera y suave queso de Aracena (pork cheeks and local soft cheese wrapped in egg and breadcrumbs) and berenjena (aubergines in the lightest, crispest tempura batter).

Pimientos de piquillo rellenos de jabali y gurumelos, Montecruz Tapas, Aracena

We were in a small bar in a small town, but the sophistication of the ingredients, presentation and flavours would have been impressive anywhere. It was a fine lunch at a very reasonable price, and one that would leave just enough room for dinner.

An Afternoon at Leisure in Alájar

Ángel drove us back to Alájar and Lynne decided to have a nap (old people do that). Then we went for a stroll around the village. There is a little more space between the houses than our first impression had suggested.

Wide open spaces, Alájar

Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (You don’t Live Twice) is a Hindi language ‘buddy road movie’ released in 2011. Three well-healed young Indian men come to Spain to discover themselves, and unearth a tick list of Spanish clichés. In a three-week holiday they remarkably visit the Tomatina festival in Buñol (late August) followed by the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona (early July). Surprisingly, the film won awards. There is, apparently, enough room in Alájar to stage a major Bollywood song and dance number, as Señorita was filmed here over three nights. The song seamlessly blends flamenco with Indian popular music to the benefit of neither - here is a link to it on Youtube, click on it if you must.

There is enough space for dancing, but not for a good photograph of the mostly 18th century Church of San Marcos. It is reputed to have the tallest spire in the Province of Huelva.

San Marcos, Alájar

Back at the posada I had a swim. Late September nights are cold and the unheated pool does not warm up as much during the day as I would have liked. The top 20cm of the water was pleasant, but below that – and at all depths in shaded sections - the water was bracing. Such temperatures discourage idling and I am sure a few brisk lengths did me good.

A few brisk lengths, Alájar

Dinner at the Posada de San Marcos, Alájar (2)

Again, we ate at the congenial, if non-Spanish time of 7.30, again we ate outside, with a pullover to hand (the temperature drops swiftly when the sun goes down) and again Lucy provided us with a memorable meal.

The chicken liver and chestnut paté, home produced from local ingredients, gave the chestnut as prominent a role as the meat; unusual perhaps, but very good indeed. I always like a bean stew and Lucy’s chick pea stew with chorizo and morcilla (black pudding) was spot on. Dessert was a lemon and almond pastry.

Chicken liver and chestnut paté, Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

After another bottle of the house red, a light organic tempranillo perfect for swilling rather than sipping, we retired, happy with our meal and, indeed, our whole day.

Iberian Pork

Part 1: Alájar in the Sierra Aracena

Part 2: Pigs, Ham and Tapas
Part 3: Secaderos, Pork Butchers and Cooking Dinner

To Alájar in Andalusia: Sierra de Aracena Iberian Pork Experience Part 1

Into Andalusia and the Heartland of the Iberian Black Pig

Faro to Alájar

For the last three years our first act after arriving in the Algarve has been to leave it, this year we took that idea one stage further and left Portugal entirely.

Spain

Andalusia

Alájar, 210 km from Faro in the Andalusian Sierra de Aracena, was an easy 2½ hour drive, first east along the Portuguese auto-estrada to the Guadiana bridge then along the Spanish autopista on the other side. Both were free running and (at least by M6 standards) relatively empty.

The bridge across the Guadiana between Portugal and Spain (photographed from Castro Marim, October 2015)

Turning north just beyond Huelva took us onto the similarly uncluttered N435 which for 80km climbed gently from the coastal plain to where green hills basked in warm autumn sunshine.

Alájar

Alájar and the green Sierra de Aracena in Autumn sunshine

Alájar

A minor road took us the few kilometers to the entrance to Alájar. So far, so simple. I had expected finding the Posada de San Marcos in a village of 700 inhabitants to be equally easy, but not so; the signposting was intermittent, the roads were maze-like, some were narrow, the rest were narrower and all were lined with whitewashed buildings - to the untutored eye every street looked the same. One narrow, twisting downhill alley I did not fancy reversing back up, came to a pinch point. We folded in the wing-mirrors of our Fiat Panda and inched forward, grateful for the guidance of a local who suddenly appeared from nowhere like a guardian angel. I had considered booking a larger car this year - more comfortable for the long drive, I thought. I am so glad I didn’t.

One of Alájar's wider streets

Finding a road wide enough to park in, we decided to search on foot, only to find we were almost outside our destination.

Lynne outside the Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

We were warmly welcomed by our host Ángel – we would meet hostess Lucy tomorrow - who succinctly explained the streets of Alájar, ‘the Romans or the Arabs of whoever built these roads did not think about cars.’

Alájar is not just a village of narrow roads. Life was hard here during the Franco years (1936-75); Andalusia had little love for the Generalisimo and was repaid with 55,000 semi-judicial killings in the late 1930s followed by years of repression. The villages of the Sierra Aracena were isolated, the roads to Huelva and Seville were poor and development minimal.

There is, though, a silver lining; because of earlier neglect Alájar is unspoilt, a ‘heritage village’ nestling in the green hills. It looks as though nothing has changed for decades, perhaps centuries; most buildings still have a ring in the wall where you can hitch your horse or donkey, but…

Hitching ring on an Alájar wall

…unspoilt does not mean unchanged. This is, after all 21st century Europe; these houses have hitching rings for horses, broadband for computers and every convenience in between. Alájar is no longer neglected, the houses are freshly whitewashed, the roads neatly cobbled, there is a public swimming pool and a newish school for students up to 13, their older siblings are bussed 10km to the small town of Aracena.

A quiet corner, Alájar

The Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

From outside the 19th century Posada de San Marcos looks an ordinary village house - except for the sign over the door - but as we would learn, unassuming doors in Alájar can conceal some surprising contents.

The rear of the Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

Reception and three guest rooms are on the ground floor, downstairs the breakfast room (and restaurant in inclement weather) occupies the old bodega and there are three more guest rooms. The lower ground floor exits to the garden, pool and al fresco restaurant.

Garden and swimming pool, Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

Ham and Sherry at the Posada de San Marcos

Vegetarians look away now. Most of the rest of this post is about ham. If you would rather read about fine vegetarian cuisine, try one of my Gujarat posts.

We had come to Alájar for an 'Iberian Pig Experience' and as soon as we were settled in and freshened up we were down in the bodega for a ham carving and sherry tasting. The Iberian Black Pig, a cross between the domestic pigs introduced by the Phoenicians and the local wild boar, lives the porcine equivalent of the life of Reilly rootling around in the sparse forests of cork and holm oak that cover this part of Spain and much of the Alentejo in Portugal. In the second autumn of their lives they fatten themselves on the acorns carpeting the forest floor after which they are, as Ángel put it, 'sacrificed' to produce the finest pork and ham known to humanity. We first encountered Iberian Black Pork in Évora in the Alentejo in 2016 and immediately realized we were eating something special, so when Responsible Travel told us of a Pig Encounter of the Third Kind in Alájar, we signed up immediately.

As a prelude to the ham Ángel cut slices of lomo and morcón. Lomo is a cured cylinder of loin. Common English usage has rather lowered the loins from where they started, but pig butchery clings to an earlier definition. The loin is the muscle along the ridge of the backbone and in Iberian pigs, who spend they lives clambering up and down their hilly forest homes the loin, like the ham, is particularly well developed. The flavour is subtle, complex and utterly delicious. Morcón is a chorizo made from the loin off-cuts marinaded in paprika, garlic, salt and other spices. Lynne appreciated this, too, but I found something in the spicing dried out my mouth in a way I might have found alarming had I not had a glass of sherry to fall back on.

Lomo (nearer the camera) and morcón from the Iberian Black Pig

Jerez wines are produced in and around the city of that name near the Andalusian coast. 'Sherry' is an anglicisation of Jerez and means 'Jerez wine'.

The UK has a long and not always glorious history of sherry drinking, most of it medium sweet Amontillado, the traditional tipple of maiden aunts and long-suffering vicars - and if that did not ruin the reverend's Christmas there was always the real sweeties like Harvey's Bristol Cream (my late mother-in-law's favourite). Because she liked it, she assumed every discerning drinker craved it and often gave us a bottle at Christmas. It is fine, if you like that sort of thing, but we always passed it on to the church bazaar as a raffle prize.

Dry Fino was regarded as the sophisticated drinkers' sherry. As a rule of thumb, the sweeter the sherry the darker the hue so Croft Original, the colour of Fino with the stickiness of cream sherry, was created in 1966 for those who wished to look sophisticated but weren't.

Sometimes I think I am Britain’s last Fino sherry drinker, but that must be an illusion, it remains readily available in every supermarket. The sherry drinkers of Andalusia appreciate a good Fino and Ángel poured us an excellent example, a wine with the virtue of freshness, a quality that can be lost by loitering on a supermarket shelf. Its elegant flavour lingered delightfully - and dealt admirably with my dry mouth.

Carving ham is a craft and Ángel has been known to travel as far as the Basque country to demonstrate his skills. For an artisan, having the right tools is essential. First there were the knives, one large and broad bladed to deal with the skin, one small, pointed and wickedly sharp to work round the bones and one long and flexible to cut the slices, there were tweezers to pick up the cut ham and a steel so the knives could be sharpened every time they were used. And then there was the jamonero, the stand that held the afternoon’s most important guest, the ham itself.

The knives are ready, the ham sits in the jamonero, all is ready
Ángel makes a final point before starting to carve.

It was time for another sherry. Manzanilla is a Fino made in Sanlúcar de Barrameda 10km from Jerez. Grown right on the coast, Manzanilla ‘is blessed with a slightly salty tang, which is held to come from the sea’ (World Wine Atlas). I had previously regarded it as a way of paying a little more for an ordinary Fino, but I had never tasted them side by side before. Yes, it was salty, light, fragrant, bone-dry and lovely.

Jamon Iberico ready for carving, Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

As we sipped Ángel cut the ham, a shoulder, smaller than the rear legs which can be up to 8Kg, but of the same quality. Each slice was wafer thin and he always started where the previous slice ended.

Ángel slices the jam

The slices were red, glistening and almost transparent. Chocolate has the unusual quality of being a solid at room temperature, but liquid at body temperature, i.e it literally melts in your mouth - so too the fat of Jamón Iberico. Ángel suggested we held a slice in the mouth, pressed gently upwards with the tongue and waited. It was not a long wait, as the fat melts the mouth is filled with flavour, the essence of all good things porky. Such ham is necessarily expensive, a good quality 7.5Kg jamón on the bone can cost €500 locally, close to double that in the export market. But unless you own a restaurant you would not want a 7.5Kg ham; a 100g pre-sliced pack costs £20+. Fortunately, it is very rich, and so very full of flavour, you don’t need much.

Jamón Iberico, ready for tasting

The last sherry was a Manzanilla aged by Ángel himself. The precious liquid trickled out of his little barrel, a tad darker than it once had been and quite different on the palate. Richer and more complex than the young wine, it was reminiscent of Palo Cortado – my favourite type of sherry - though technically it is different. A fine end to the tasting.

Curing a ham takes three years and even after they have been started, they keep well and do not need refrigeration, merely covering with a cloth and placing somewhere cool and dry. Before putting his ham away Ángel carved some fat from the outside and packed it over the cut surface to keep it moist and fresh.

Dinner at the Posada de San Marcos, Alájar

Dinner, Ángel told us would be at outside at 7.30; to us a perfectly reasonable time for dinner, for most Spaniards 3 hours too early. ‘The temperature drops sharply when the sun goes down,’ Ángel explained, ‘so if you want to eat outside…..’ He could have added that as all six rooms were occupied by north Europeans it made sense to eat at north European times.

The dinner had been prepared by Ángel’s wife Lucy, the other half of the San Marcos team. Lucy may have started life in Bolton, but she is very much an adopted Andalusian and swaps back and forth between English and Spanish with the same dexterity that Ángel swaps between Spanish and English.

A salad of lettuce, roasted peppers and shards of an impressive local goat’s cheese was followed by Iberian Pork cheeks in a chocolate sauce and a home-made cheese cake. All was washed down with the house red, a (fairly) local organic tempranillo, a juicy lightweight perfect for gulping rather than sipping.

Iberian pork cheeks in chocolate sauce with rice and broccoli 

It was an excellent meal. We have enjoyed pigs’ cheeks in Portugal (in Mértola and Beja) stewed in red wine but the choclate sauce was a new idea. I had expected it to resemble a Mexican mole, but although it was thick and glossy there was no Mexican spicing. In a mole the sauce is more important than the meat (seeOaxaca, Cooking a Mole) but here the meat remained the centrepiece – and so it should with pork of this quality. It was hardly Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, but no chocolate can be as bitter as Mexican chocolate and there was a sweetness to the sauce I could have done without – but no doubt it pleased others.

As we had been up since 03.45, an early night seemed appropriate, before more porky delights tomorrow.

Iberian Pork

Part 1: Alájar in the Sierra Aracena

Part 2: Pigs, Ham and Tapas
Part 3: Secaderos, Pork Butchers and Cooking Dinner