Today, as promised, I follow-on from yesterday’s post and
give you another section from Gatherings from Spain, (1851) by Richard Ford. The piece is clearly
in praise of the pig – the Spanish variety, that is:
Bacon
throughout the length and breadth of the Peninsula is more honoured than this,
or than any one or all the fathers of the church of Rome; the hunger after the
flesh of the pig is equalled only by the thirst for the contents of what is put
afterwards into his skin; and with reason, for the pork of Spain has always
been, and is, unequalled in flavour; the bacon is fat and flavoured, the
sausages delicious, and the hams transcendantly superlative, to use the very
expression of Diodorus Siculus, a man of great taste, learning, and judgment.
Of all the things of Spain, no one need feeling ashamed to plead guilty to a
predilection and preference to the pig. A few particulars may be therefore
pardoned.
In
Spain pigs are more numerous even than asses, since they pervade the provinces.
As those of Estremadura, the Hampshire
of the Peninsula, are the most esteemed, they alone will be now noticed. That
province, although so little visited by Spaniards or strangers, is full of
interest to the antiquarian and naturalist; and many are the rides at different
periods which we have made through its tangled ilex groves, and over its
depopulated and aromatic wastes. A granary under Roman and Moor, its very
existence seems to be all but forgotten by the Madrid government, who have
abandoned it to feræ naturæ, to
wandering sheep, locusts, and swine. The entomology of Estremadura is endless,
and perfectly uninvestigated—de minimis non curat Hispanus; but the heavens and
earth teem with the minute creation; there nature is most busy and prolific,
where man is most idle and unproductive; and in these lonely wastes, where no
human voice disturbs the silence, the balmy air resounds with the buzzing hum
of multitudinous insects, which career about on their business of love or food
without settlements or kitchens, rejoicing in the fine weather which is the joy
of their tiny souls, and short-lived pleasant existence. Sheep, pigs, locusts,
and doves are the only living things which the traveller will see for hours and
hours. Now and then a man occurs, just to prove how rare his species is here.
Vast districts of this unreclaimed province are covered with woods of oak,
beech, and chesnut; but these park-like scenes have no charms for native eyes;
blind to the picturesque, they only are thinking of the number of pigs which
can be fattened on the mast and acorns, which are sweeter and larger than those
of our oaks. The acorns are still called bellota,
the Arabic bollot — belot being the Scriptural term for the
tree and the gland, which, with water, formed the original diet of the
aboriginal Iberian, as well as of his pig; when dry, the acorns were ground,
say the classical authors, into bread, and, when fresh, they were served up as
the second course. And in our time ladies of high rank at Madrid constantly ate
them at the opera and elsewhere; they were the presents sent by Sancho Panza's
wife to the Duchess, and formed the text on which Don Quixote preached so
eloquently to the goatherds, on the joys and innocence of the golden age and
pastoral happiness, in which they constituted the foundation of the kitchen. The
pigs during the greater part of the year are left to support nature as they
can, and in gauntness resemble those greyhound-looking animals which pass for
porkers in France. When the acorns are ripe and fall from the trees, the greedy
animals are turned out in legions from the villages, which more correctly may
be termed coalitions of pigsties. They return from the woods at night, of their
own accord, and without a swine's general. On entering the hamlet, all set off
at a full gallop, like a legion possessed with devils, in a handicap for home,
into which each single pig turns, never making a mistake. We have more than
once been caught in one of these pig-deluges, and nearly carried away horse and
all, as befell Don Quixote, when really swept away by the "far-spread and
grunting drove." In his own home each truant is welcomed like a prodigal
son or a domestic father. These pigs are the pets of the peasants; they are
alcalde of the town, to the lover of delicious hams; each jamon averages about 12 lb.; they are sold at the rate of 7 ½ reales,
about 18d., for the libra carnicera,
which weighs 32 of our ounces. The duties in England are now very trifling; we
have for many years had an annual supply of these delicacies, through the
favour of a kind friend at the Puerto.
The fat of these jamones, whence our
word ham and gammon, when they are boiled, looks like melted topazes, and the
flavour defies language, although we have dined on one this very day, in order
to secure accuracy and undeniable prose, like Lope de Vega, who, according to
his biographer, Dr. Montalvan, never could write poetry unless inspired by a
rasher; "Toda es cosa vil," said he, "á donde falta un pernil" (in which word we recognize
the precise perna whereby Horace was
restored) :—
Therefore all
writing is a sham,
Where there
is wanting Spanish ham.
Those
of Gallicia and Catalonia are also celebrated, but are not to be compared for a
moment with those of Montanches, which are fit to set before an emperor. Their
only rivals are the sweet hams of the Alpujarras,
which are made at Trevelez, a
pig-hamlet situated under the snowy mountains on the opposite side of Granada,
to which also we have made a pilgrimage. They are called dulces or sweet, because scarcely any salt is used in the curing;
the ham is placed in a weak pickle for eight days, and is then hung up in the
snow; it can only be done at this place, where the exact temperature necessary
is certain.
…
So much space has been filled with these meritorious bacons and hams, that we
must be brief with our remaining bill of fare. For a pisto or meat omelette take eggs, which are to be got almost
everywhere; see that they are fresh by being pellucid; beat these huevos trasparentes well up; chop up
onions and whatever savoury herbs you have with you; add small slices of any
meat out of your hamper, cold turkey, ham, &c.; beat it all up together and
fry it quickly. Most Spaniards have a peculiar knack in making these tortillas, revueltas de huevos, which to fastidious stomachs are, as in most
parts of the Continent, a sure resource to fall back upon. The Guisado, or stew, like the olla, can
only be really done in a Spanish pipkin, and of those which we import, the
Andalucian ones draw flavour out the best. This dish is always well done by
every cook in every venta, barring that they are apt to put in bad oil, and too
much garlic, pepper, and saffron. Superintend it, therefore, yourself, and take
hare, partridge, rabbit, chicken, or whatever you may have foraged on the road;
it is capital also with pheasant, as we proved only yesterday; cut it up, save
the blood, the liver, and the giblets; do not wash the pieces, but dry them in
a cloth; fry them with onions in a teacup of oil till browned; take an olla,
put in these bits with the oil, equal portions of wine and water, but stock is
better than water; claret answers well, Valdepeñas
better; add a bit of bacon, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, pimientos, a bunch of thyme or herbs; let it simmer, carefully
skimming it; half an hour before serving add the giblets; when done, which can
be tested by feeling with a fork, serve hot. The stew should be constantly
stirred with a wooden spoon, and
grease, the ruin of all cookery, carefully skimmed off as it rises to the
surface. When made with proper care and with a good salad, it forms a supper
for a cardinal, or for Santiago himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment