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right balance of humidity that is particularly suitable for curing and ageing this ham. “This is the cathedral of ham,” says Pizarro,


as we gaze in awe at the ranks of sweet-smell- ing ham hanging from specially constructed rafters in vast cellars at Cinco Jotas. Window vents are cranked open in a wonderfully low- tech effort to regulate the humidity, which all helps with the ageing process.


Aracena is the third rainiest place in Spain and a tad chilly on this crisp November day, which is surprising given how far south we are. But the hams need this combination of cold and humidity to enable them to dry out properly, explains Pizarro. Every three months each ham is brushed with sunflower oil to preserve its humidity. “Touch is a big part of what they do, from


opening and closing the windows, to covering each ham with salt, to testing whether the cur- ing is complete. That knowledge is passed down to each generation,” explains Pizarro. Pizarro likes his ham with a particular cure.


“Mine are cured a little longer than most, so the flavours are developed to the max,” he explains. We nibble on an expertly carved leg, which has been smothered first in Andalucian sea salt before being hung out to dry for four years. The depth of flavour is like nothing else, lingering like a fine wine. The yellow ribbon of acorn-rich fat dissolves on the tongue in an umami-packed taste bomb. A visit to the newly opened Cinco Jotas visi-


tor centre costs 12 euros and lasts around one and a half hours, and includes a plate of ham and a glass of wine. Don’t miss the Imax-style screen showing a movie of the pampered pigs roaming the Dehesa, especially if you don’t get time to see the real thing.


From farm to plate Jabugo has just got its own Denomination of Origin (DO). It previously fell under the wider Huelva DO, but it got too big, apparently (the polite version of the story). The town is about a 20-minute drive west from the attractive mar- ket town of Aracena, the region’s cultural hub and where we are based – and a two-hour drive north to Pizarro’s hometown. Pizarro comes from a small village called


Talaván in the neighbouring region of Extrem- adura, a rural area next to Portugal. “As a boy I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen – I had to help my dad on the farm. Though I’d watch my mother bake bread, make gazpacho in the summer or arroz caldoso [rice stew] in the winter,” he says. “The food on our table was mostly ours, picked just a couple of hours before, such as melons and tomatoes, peppers and strawber- ries. We savoured the seasons – baby artichokes in the spring, green beans in the summer.” Pizarro didn’t set out to become a chef. He


trained as a dental technician and, while he was waiting for a job, he did a cooking course in Cáceres and was hooked. “I thought I could juggle both careers, but the cooking was the bigger draw, so I gave up dentistry,” he grins. “When I first came to London 16 years ago, Spanish food didn’t have the cachet of, say, Ital- ian food, thanks to the country’s isolation under General Franco and the poor reputation


24 | Best of Chef | March 2016 www.thecaterer.com





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