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PATA NEGRA
Four-legged acorn eaters:
Ibérico pigs cluster in the
shade on the dehesa
explains the characteristic marbling and succulence
of the meat.
The dehesa of southwest Spain covers 1.6 million
hectares, a million hectares of which are in
Ex tremadura, which accounts for two-thirds of
Spain’s output of jamón Ibérico de bellota (cured
ham made from acorn-fed pigs). For its ham to
be classified as such, the pig must be at least 75%
Ibérico, which leaves a fair amount of room for
cross breeding, typically with the meatier Black-
Duroc or Duroc-Jersey pig. They must have had at
least one montanera before being killed, although
Tristancho’s have had three before they are “sac -
rificed.” Through fall and winter, from October
to February, the pigs feed on at least 6kg-7kg of
acorns a day, gain ing around 100kg in weight.
This is what gives their meat its distinctive sweet,
nutty flavor. The fat, which should melt at room
temperature, has a level of oleic acids comparable
to olive oil. Many aficionados consider the fat to
be the best part of the jamón, going so far as to
claim it helps lowers their cholesterol.
“In the old days the ham was even sweeter, because
the acorns were supplemented with figs,”
Tristancho says, as we judder to a halt in the shade
of a small copse where a herd of 30 or so pigs jostle
for space around what remains of a mud hole that
has dried up in the sun. “The bigger farms stopped
doing it because it increased their workload and
costs. My pigs still eat figs.”
Some might consider it a wise in vestment. At
cur rent prices, Tristancho’s ham goes for $65 a
kilo, meaning a whole leg could easily cost you
upward of $525.
His pigs are fine beasts: bright-eyed with cute,
corkscrew tails that wiggle when they walk, and a
ruddy black skin that is almost bloody in appearance,
which is typical of the Colorada pig – the undisputed
kings of the realm. “Dinner?” Tristancho
says, rubbing his hands, as the pigs shoot past us in
a cloud of dust, clearly spooked by the photographer
in their midst.
We are to dine with Tristancho’s mom, Doña
Rita, who’s visiting her two grandsons at his sister’s
ranch, Las Navas. When we arrive she ushers
us into the kitchen for a cold supper of local goat
cheese and thickly cut chorizo, washed down with
Cruz campo beer. Last year Andoni Luis Aduriz
and Heston Blumenthal were here, up to their elbows
in blood and fat making their own sausages
and breakfasting on fried offal and jugs of homemade
wine. “They grow more grapes here than
Rioja but it’s too strong, madre mia,” Rita says,
crossing herself, as Tristancho shows the boys
88 DECEMBER 2012/JANUARY 2013 SCANORAMA
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