As we speak, my 60th book – Virginia Ham: A History of Salt and Smoke– is making its way into the retail settings of the world. On the in-person side, I will be speaking and signing at Fonts Books & Gifts in McLean, Va., Tuesday May 12 at 7 p.m. And I’m especially happy to be doing the same in Smithfield, Va. (which justifiably calls itself the Ham Capital of the World), Saturday May 16 at 1 p.m. That appearance will be at the wonderful Isle of Wight County Museum. I hope to see you there.
What is ham anyway – whether it’s made in Virginia or anywhere else around the world, in the past, in the present or in the future?
Ham is, at its simplest, fresh meat from pigs that’s dried by various methods until it becomes far less perishable in a world without (or pre-) refrigeration. Ham is a beloved chapter in humanity’s endless quest to find, gather and then not waste food.
We see that quest everywhere we look in history, as well as in today’s still-traditional societies – or even in traditions living on in post-traditional societies. We can picture fruit trees sending tons of ripe apples or pears or cherries to the house or barn, where they would go bad if not turned into jars of jams, jellies and, that clearest description of all, preserves. We also can picture olives being pressed into oil that lasts much longer than the fruit itself, or grapes crushed to get at their juice. Most historians see the first wines fermenting unintentionally, when a little bacteria fell into the vat. Some brave soul must have tasted the result to see if it killed him. It didn’t kill him.
In the case of ham, we’re dealing with pre-history, as usual. It probably takes us back to ancient China, especially to a place called Jinhua. The place is world-famous for its hams now, though they are not allowed into the United States. There’s also that charming essay by British author Charles Lamb, A Dissertation on Roast Pig, in which pigs are turned into something quite like ham when they’re caught in a Chinese village fire. Everybody who sampled the result in the essay agreed it was delicious.
Somehow – maybe with Marco Polo but we don’t have evidence – ham made it all the way to Europe later. It came to Italy, where prosciutto di Parma and prosciutto di San Danieli became revered, as well as to Spain, where jamon serrano and jamon iberico are treasured. And it came to England, settling into the recipes of many a village and, of course, into the taverns of London. It was from England that live pigs destined to become ham were sent to the colony of Virginia.
An intriguing and unexpected thing happened in Virginia, though, one that makes the state’s hams unique in all the ham-loving world. Up until the Atlantic crossing, hams had been salt cured – covered in salt and basically hung out to dry. This technique, with origins in ancient China, is what showed up on Virginia’s shores. But there it met up with two cultures known for preserving meats not so much by curing but by smoking, by setting them alongside a low, smoke-producing fire.
The natives, which the arriving Britons knew incorrectly as Indians, had a long tradition of smoking fish and oysters, both along the Eastern Seaboard and lifetimes away in the Pacific Northwest. They must have shared their techniques with the English, even as their people were pushed farther and farther off the Virginia lands of their ancestors.
And… once the first African slaves were forced onto Virginia soil in 1619, these men, woman and children came to handle every step of the ham-making process. That included raising the pigs, naturally, but also slaughtering, salting and smoking. Turns out, Africa had a tradition of smoking meats too. Over the decades, Virginia became the only mainstream ham tradition on earth to use BOTH salt curing and smoking. It was as though all the people who made Virginia, well, Virginia signed their names onto this single iconic food item.
Ham figured constantly into the menu planning of four of the first five presidents of the United States, since Washington, Jefferson, Madison and Monroe were all Virginians. And all four were slave-owners, as we now recognize. Ham wasn’t, in Virginia, the chosen protein at this or that meal on some rotation. It was always present on a buffet table before anyone sat down to eat. This required a lot of ham. Happily, Virginia had a lot of pigs.
Some of the earliest British ships dropped off pigs to roam wild on a piece of James River land called Hog Island, logically enough. It was close to the Jamestown settlement and, a bit later, to Williamsburg, both places with many hungry mouths to feed. These British pigs, over time, wandered south until they met up with Spanish pigs set free in Florida to wander north, and plenty of avid piglet-making took place.
Pigs also supplied the final step in what I call the Virginia Three-Step, with a nod to the popular dance called the Texas Two-Step. The first crop to catch on in Virginia was, historians tell us, tobacco, thanks to the John Rolfe who actually did marry Pocahontas, not that Capt. John Smith fellow. Tobacco made Rolfe rich in the colony, but it pretty much killed the Virginia soil – made it worthless. There things stood until somebody discovered that growing peanuts along the ground replenished the soil to its youthful vigor again. That was the second step.
And honestly, who loves to eat peanuts even more than Red Sox fans at Fenway? Pigs, of course. Because peanuts grew along the ground (they’re called “ground nuts” in Africa and the Africanized Caribbean), pig farmers and their slaves didn’t even have to pick the things. It’s no coincidence that Smithfield, now known to its delight as the Ham Capital of the World, was once the Peanut Capital of the World before that.
The international meat corporation called Smithfield Foods (or simply “Foods” around the town of Smithfield) grew and acquired competitors through the late 20th into the 21st century – until “Foods” itself was acquired. Its headquarters is still one of the largest and most attractive buildings in town. Though the town of Smithfield itself raises no pigs and cures or smokes no hams, it stands at the forefront of so-called “ham tourism.” Don’t visit Smithfield if you don’t like ham sandwiches.
Meanwhile, knowing all the history and husbandry that came before, some young Virginia families are working to turn back the clock. Small-scale farms of pigs treated cleanly and humanely are producing what the farmers claim is better pork to make better ham. It’s a good life for the families, they all say, and a way better life for the pigs. Today, kings, queens, millionaires and all the rest of us around the world can still place orders for the Chinese-Italian-Spanish-English-Native-American-African-American salt-cured and smoked delicacy known as Virginia ham.
