Rosemary's ham

How many recipes, I wonder, are said to come from the author's grandmother? Hundreds of thousands, perhaps. One pictures a white-haired old lady stirring a bowl of cake mixture, following a secret recipe which, perhaps came from her own grandmother. My first memory of home-cooked ham came from my grandmother. She would spike it with cloves, boil it and smother it in some unknown brown spice, and we would eat it over several days, accompanied by salad: lettuce, washed and dried in a salad spinner; hard-boiled egg, sliced in an egg slicer; cucumber with the peel chopped off; tomatoes which were sometimes skinned; beetroot in vinegar; spring onions; sometimes a tiny bowl of potato salad. There was salad cream in those days, although as the seventies turned into the eighties, she gradually switched to mayonnaise. Olive oil was used only rarely, for extra-special salad dressings, made in a vinaigrette and shaken vigorously before each meal. Slices of brown bread. Once upon a time I would have eaten the last ever slice of ham which had been cooked by her, but, like many firsts and lasts, I cannot pinpoint that moment.

Brian's cucumber pickle

Unlike most pickles, you can eat this immediately and with nothing other than a spoon.

INGREDIENTS

2 lb cucumbers
2 large onions
1 large green pepper
2oz salt

For the syrup:
3/4 pt cider or wine vinegar
12 oz soft brown sugar
1/2 level teaspoon ground turmeric
1/4 level teaspoon ground cloves
1 level dessert spoon mustard seed
1/2 level teaspoon celery seed

Bri says if you haven't got these, fudge with what you have.

Wash cucumbers. Do not peel. Slice thinly.
Slice onions, shred the green pepper.
Put them in large mixing basin with the salt.
Mix well. Cover with weighted plate and stand for 3 hours.
Rinse thoroughly under cold running water in colander.
Drain well and place in large saucepan.
Add vineger.
Bring to boil. Simmer gently until soft, about 20 mins.
Add sugar and spices to pan. Stir over low heat to dissolve sugar.
Bring to boil. Draw off the heat. Turn into large mixing basin. Set aside until cold.
Pot.

ENJOY.

Gammon

My maternal grandmother's maiden name was Cecil; it is part of family legend that we are descended from Elizabeth I's Secretary of State. Another is that we have all inherited something called the "Cecil Mean Gene". That is to say, put at its gentlest, we avoid spending money and gain serious satisfaction from a bargain. Last night, I found myself in precisely that frame of mind while wandering around the supermarket. I lingered over the "Reduced to Clear" shelves, a place where there is a hint of tension. Will anything really exciting arrive there during my survey, so I get first dibs? Will someone manage to grab something before I do? I tend to watch people like a hawk, noticing what they pick up, occasionally willing them to return it so that I can then snatch it. It's like a return to toddlerhood.

What I found last night was a large piece of gammon which had been reduced to half price - the reason being, I surmised, that the best before date was that very day. Into the basket it went.

At home, I decided to conduct a little experiment. The gammon would be simply roasted. I stuck a few cloves in. Then, taking an idea from Nigella Lawson (cooking ham in coca cola) I tipped over the ham the dregs of a bottle of ginger beer and then smeared some honeycomb on top, put it into a hot oven and waited for a couple of hours.

I think it worked. The ginger beer had completely dried up on the bottom of the roasting tin. The fat of the ham was completely blackened and shiny. The ham itself was neither too moist nor too dry. I had some of the end for breakfast this morning, with unsalted butter, coarse grain mustard, in a hot cross bun.