The Best Pork Comes From Happy Pigs

I stopped eating pork many years ago, and I can’t even remember why.  For the last six years, though, it’s because of my diet. Pork is on the “Avoid” list. My body has become very sensitive to pork, and reacts badly to it.

Before I left for vacation in Spain, my friend, Mazie, and I were on the hunt in D.C. for a special Spanish jamon (ham) called Iberico de Bellota. On a tip, Mazie found Iberico de Bellota at Canales Deli in Eastern Market. It cost $67 for less than a half pound.

I asked Mazie what was so great about this particular pork. She said the pigs are raised to forage on acorns, and the meat has an extraordinary taste. She insisted I try a piece of the precious ham. I agreed to taste just a sliver, and took a chance on the pig’s acorn diet. I ate the sliver and fully expected to suffer in short order.

Expected to bloat. Didn’t happen.

Expected severe stomach cramps. Didn’t happen.

Expected to become violently ill. Didn’t happen.

(I was both relieved and impressed!)

This is what I’ve learned about the pigs. “Bellota” means acorn. These pigs are raised in a region of western Spain on pastures with oak tree groves. Certain pigs are selected to finish their lives foraging a pasture for herbs, wild mushrooms, and grasses, and, especially, acorns. The pigs are allowed to do what pigs naturally do — dig, roam, and forage for their food. They are considered “semi-wild,” and the Spanish government strictly regulates the Iberico de Bellota bloodline for quality and integrity.

In contrast, pigs raised in crowded industrial livestock operations nose-to-tail with other pigs suffer. I’ve read that pigs raised in this unhealthy environment are so stressed they often eat each others’ tails. I’ve also read that these industrial operations often supply pork to U.S. supermarkets.

Know this, if you find Iberico de Bellota cured ham in the U.S., it came from a very special, healthy and happy pig.

Iberico de Bellota ham comes from the pig’s hind leg.  It is hung and cured for at least two years, complete with the pata negra, or black hoof. The black hoof distinguishes Iberico de Bellota from other hams, like Serrano. It has only been sold in the U.S. since 2008, sin pata negra (without black hoof).

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Carving slices of jamon Iberico de bellota outside a tapas bar in Madrid.

Jamon for sale at Mercado San Miguel (Madrid)

Jamon for sale at Mercado San Miguel (Madrid)

Jamon Iberico de bellota for sale at Mercat Central (Valencia)

Jamon Iberico de bellota for sale at Mercat Central – Valencia

Now, about the ham and its taste… The color is more magenta than pink, like the typical American ham. The meat is nicely marbled with fat. I rolled it around in my mouth before chewing and experienced an almost buttery texture. Instead of cutting away the fat, I ate it. As for the taste? It was sublime.

My first taste of Jamon Iberico de Bellota was before I went to Spain. Madrid’s gastronomy is very pork-centric; so I was happy to know I could experience that part of Spanish cuisine, and easily find the ham there. From what I could tell, it is the most expensive ham in Spain, though it is still much cheaper there than here in the U.S. It is so precious, in fact, that a native of Madrid, now living in Baltimore, has a guy in Madrid who vacuum-packs his Jamon Iberico de Bellota so he can stuff as much of it as he can inside the clothes he packs in his suitcase when he returns to the U.S.

By the end of my travels in Spain, I *got* it.  This pork is special. It is the only brand I will eat, although sparingly, and on rare occasions. The exception was my last night in Madrid:  I was the happy pig. I tore up a plate of tomatoes and a plate of Jamon Iberico de Bellota meant for two to share!

No shame or consequences!

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Balancing Travel – Part 6: The Long Trip Home

My well-planned and balanced trip to Spain exceeded expectations! Transfers between cities and modes of transportation were seamless. All was perfect…until it was time to come home.

Maybe it was that last rainy, windy, dismal day and night in Madrid…it was about 40 degrees outside and I was under-dressed. It was late May, after all, and I had packed for heat in Spain; not chilly rain. Add to that my cheap attack that led me to stay in a lousy hotel. The morning of my flight, I was finally ready to go.

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But first, some good stuff.  The first leg of my flight from Madrid to Philadelphia was uneventful, which is always a good thing. I made a friend from Brussels while waiting for my next flight. You’d think Mollie and I had known each other for more than a minute. We exchanged numbers and email, and said we’d meet again. I also had a delicious, though premium-priced, meal at the airport and was able to charge my devices at the bar.

Now, for the hot mess.

The airline cancelled my flight from Philadelphia to Baltimore-Washington International Airport because of the weather. I managed to book another flight that would leave about three hours later than the original. Mind you, home was tantalizingly close — less than three hours’ drive away — making the delay all the more brutal. I considered taking the train, and then realized my checked bag would arrive at BWI without me. I let that idea go. I ate another meal and found ways to kill time, including losing my cell phone, retracing my steps all over the terminal, and finally retrieving the phone from the person who found it right as my flight was boarding.

I arrived in Baltimore around 9:50 p.m; my bag did not. I realized I’d left my house key and driver’s license in it. So, I called my sister, Cheryl, who had a copy of my house key. Luckily, she was still up and said she’d bring it and meet me curbside outside the baggage claim area.

Meanwhile, a Bulgarian guy was also at the lost baggage counter looking lost himself. (I knew his nationality because I had glanced at his passport when we were in Philly.) The lost baggage lady couldn’t communicate with him to find out where to deliver his bags; I couldn’t either. Then, it dawned on me that I could call my Bulgarian friend, Krisi. By then, it was around 10:45 p.m. I hesitated to call her at that hour, but the lost guy looked pitiful. I called her, anyway.

Krisi became the interpreter between the lost baggage lady and the lost Bulgarian. I was happy to help, and happy my friend could help. Hopefully, things got sorted out because my sister arrived curbside and I needed my phone back. Cheryl gave me the key.

I had to wait almost two hours for my prepaid shuttle van because the service was also affected by flight delays. The van dropped me off at home – finally – around 1:30 a.m. As the shuttle van pulled away, I realized I had a problem. I put the key in my door lock:  it didn’t turn. The key looked like my house key, but it wasn’t. Crap. My sister was no longer answering her phone. (Thanks a lot, Cheryl.)

Lesson learned:  Don’t pack your house key and driver’s license in the bag you check at the airport. 

I put my vacation after-glow on pause….

I didn’t want to wake the neighbors at that hour with my sad, embarrassing tale. I was exhausted and only had a little bit of charge left on my cell phone. I called a cab and waited for it while curled up on top of my car trunk, using my backpack as a pillow. It was actually a warm night in Maryland, unlike my last night in Madrid. For all my efforts to economize my travel, I ended up paying for another night in a hotel and the cab fare to get there. Home:  tantalizingly close, for real, and I couldn’t even get in the door.

Cheryl wasn’t able to bring me the right key until around 2 p.m. the next day; and the airline delivered my luggage about 12 hours later in the middle of the night.

HELLO, HOME!!

The tail end of my travel was messy, but it didn’t detract from my great experience in Spain. Once I was back in my house and my luggage delivered, my equilibrium and vacation after-glow were restored!

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Valencia oranges

Balancing Travel – Spain: The End