It was Charles Dickens who wrote, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Little did he know that more than a century and a half later, his words would ring true to an overwhelmed man halfway around the world hacking at a slab of meat.
A little over a month ago, I strolled into my local Costco to check a hammy box off of my culinary bucket list: I bought the Noel Consorcio Jamon Serrano Bone-In Ham Leg, a 14-pound cured hunk of meaty joy that has been stocked at the wholesale retailer since 2019.
The Spanish serrano ham is cured in sea salt and slow-aged for a minimum of 12 months. Jamón such as this is typically enjoyed in Spanish tapas bars, served in paper-thin slices and sometimes paired with pico crackers, but Costco's version brings it into the home.
The buttery beast has achieved a near-mythic reputation online, with folks raving about it on X, Instagram, TikTok and Reddit for years. This is due in part to its relatively low price, coming in at $99 in most in-store locations and $119.99 online.
While that still may seem steep to some, other cured hams like serrano or the fancier ibérico can cost hundreds or thousands of dollars. So, for the love of salted meats, I decided to figure out if this ham is actually worth it.
"What the dickens," I said as I put it in my cart.
I purchased the Noel Jamon and churro bites (which I didn't need for this experiment, but I'm only human) and brought them to my car. The ham took up most of my Mini Cooper's trunk.
At home, I opened the box containing the ham and ruminated on the word "serrano" which comes from "sierra," or mountain in Spanish, a nod to the country's mountainous terrain, or maybe this thing's size.
Far too large for my dining table, the ham got its own special spot out of direct daily view. This turned out to be tragic foreshadowing.
In addition to the ham, the box contains a jamonera, a wooden stand specifically designed to hold the leg, as well as a cuchillo jamonero, a 10.5-inch knife.
I put the ham stand together, and unwrapped the ham from its plastic and netting and, securing the slightly slippery beast to its jamonero.
The ham comes with extensive instructions: best practices, including storage; tips for serving and how to carve it, including slicing the top off and carving the skin at the sides away to reveal the meat underneath; slicing the meat and placing it on wood to rest before serving.
After I was done, I dug in, and the quality at first bite was great: salty with just the right amount of fat. I've never been to Spain, but the quality of the meat was on par with some of the mid-tier tapas restaurants I've been to. I contentedly ate slices with cantaloupe and crackers.
Those first days were thrilling: Whenever I felt a little peckish, I would take out my cuchillo jamonero and slice my way to satiation.
I added jamón to every meal: omelettes, pasta, cereal (on the side), one particularly delicious fig jam and melted cheddar sandwich, and I thought about making croquetas. The world was my hammy oyster.
The ham's instructions say that an ideal slice of jamón is paper thin, one inch wide and three inches long. I couldn't quite get the hang of it, hacking off rhombuses and zig-zags, and after a week and a half the novelty had worn off for me. I was ham-fatigued.
I ate less and kept it covered for days.
My path later crossed with a true expert of the craft: I attended a preview of Capital One Landing at DCA, a newly-opened, luxurious airport lounge with a tapas bar and dishes conceived by chef José Andrés, who was in attendance.
As guests nibbled at hors d'oeuvres, I sipped copious bubbly and spied a jamón ibérico being sliced by a besuited man. Thanks to the Champagne, I let it slip to Andrés that I had this Costco ham at home. He laughed.
Andrés then ordered me to learn the ropes of jamón-slicing from the dapper gentleman, David Maldonado. Behind the counter, Maldonado placed my index finger on the heel of the knife and told me to cut slices toward myself with firm-but-not-hard pressure -- scary at first, but I got the hang of it.
He said that a cuchillo jamonero is long because it's best to use a sawing motion when cutting the meat, and if I was doing it right, the slices would come out translucent and rectangular, just like his.
I got home wanting to try the technique. It had been a few days since I had any home-based ham and when I uncovered it, I was horrified, hearing Frankenstein's Monster-esque organ music in my head. Covering the ham for days undisturbed had preserved its moisture so well, white mold had grown all over its skin.
I resisted the impulse to chuck the whole leg in the bin and did a little research.
According to quite a few serrano ham stockists, white mold is part of the curing process and is generally "harmless." Many sellers suggest simply cleaning the mold off with an olive oil-doused rag. That night, I ate some of the ham and prayed for a healthful morning to come.
Today marks more than a month since I bought the ham. Parts of it are very dry now since it's been sitting out for all this time in the autumn air.
I'm able to salvage some soft slices but parts of it are really hard to cut, even with a sharpened knife, which other people online have experienced. The skin has become stone-like in parts.
My mind has run wild trying to hack away at the rock hard parts of the jamón: What if this knife flies off the ham into my soft, fleshy body? Months after an unfortunate mandoline accident, I am extra cautious, and other jamón-owners should be, too.
I even considered calling my brother to ask if I could use his band saw to cut this ham, but then I realize I'm Joe Lamour, not Joe Goldberg.
At this point, I was truly tired of this ham. This pork started to feel more like an albatross around my neck, a duty I needed to fulfill: one filled with sharp blades, tough skin and tedium.
One commenter wrote, "the idea of the giant ham was better than the reality of the giant ham," and I would have to agree. It's delicious, but like most things at Costco, it's more than any one man could need.
If you really like ham enough to eat it every day, or if you belong to a family of wolves that intend to huff and puff their way to this ham leg's bone, this product is for you. As for me, I'm going to go grab a salad.