Ham Hocks with Mustard and Marmalade

“Eternity”, lamented Dorothy Parker, “is a ham and two people.” Now, for me the Christmas Ham is all-important, and the leftovers from it essential; I couldn’t tire of them no matter how many days on the trot I ceremonially unwrap the ever more crinkled foil parcel to cut another slice for a sandwich or shred the salty pink meat to drop into soup or a salad. But a proper joint of gammon does call, at least on its first magisterial outing, for a tableful of people, and I can see that those celebrating a smaller Christmas might find themselves subscribing to Parker’s acerbic view. Abundance is a wonderful thing, but wastefulness is most certainly not. And this, my friends, is where the ham hock comes in. If you’re having a very small Christmas, a fat and stubby ham hock will provide a modest feast for two, but that’s living a bit too dangerously for me, as you run the risk of not having the wherewithal for festive sandwiches on the days ahead. But a hock is such an economical cut, that I feel I can I advise a pair of them even if there are only two of you, and you’ll still have a reassuringly festive supply of ham should there be four of you round the table.

And while we’re on the subject of festive reassurance, these hocks could hardly be simpler to cook. I don’t boil them first then roast them afterwards, as I fear the nuggets of intensely flavoured meat will start unfurling and then fall apart in the bubbling liquid which, on some occasions, hardly matters, but won’t do at all if you want to glaze and burnish them, so that they can stand resplendent on board or platter, a proper Christmassy offering. I cook them in the oven throughout, initially over low-ish heat with water, before brushing them with an easy glaze and studding them with cloves with the oven turned way up high. Now, you’ll never get elegantly thin, pink slices out of a hock, but the meat is fabulously intense and juicy, and you can carve it in parts, then cut the rest from the bone in fat chunks that just burst with supercharged savouriness.

What’s more, the collagen-rich meat makes for a rich, jellied stock which, should you soak the hocks as stipulated, should not be too salty to turn into a cosy pea and ham soup afterwards. Soak 500g / 1 lb green split peas, then add enough water to the scant, strong stock to take it up to 2 litres / 1 ¾ quarts of liquid. Pour into a large pot along with the drained, soaked split peas, add the ham bones and cook until the split peas are very soft and rather less green, adding some little pieces or shreds of leftover ham to the pot to heat through before serving.

A note on a few specifics: while you could use smoked ham hocks, I feel green (or unsmoked) is very much better for this recipe; the meat is more tender, and the stock it makes less overwhelming. I haven’t given a weight for the hocks, as they just come as they come, though they tend to have an average weight of 1.5 kilos / 3 ½ lbs each. I have specified bitter orange marmalade below, as although sweetness pairs so well with the saltiness of the meat, we don’t want all out jamminess; for the record, I use Tiptree Tawny Orange Marmalade. As for the other element in the glaze, I feel the heat of proper strong English mustard is called for here, as well as in the easy stir-together sauce that I serve with it. As for other accompaniments, I go for peas and potatoes – baked if I’m eating this on Boxing Day, or just plain steamed (or boiled) smaller spuds if it’s Christmas Eve – and I strongly recommend some crunchy pickled red cabbage on the table, too.

Finally, I must tell you that these hocks are not just for those celebrating small-scale this year: should you be spending your Christmas away from home, you can also roast a hock or two like this when you get back so that you’re not left in the awful position of having no Christmas ham in the fridge for the remainder of the season.

For those in the US, you may struggle to find cured but unsmoked ham hocks. I wouldn’t recommend using a smoked one in its place – the standard US smoke is too intense for this recipe.

“Eternity”, lamented Dorothy Parker, “is a ham and two people.” Now, for me the Christmas Ham is all-important, and the leftovers from it essential; I couldn’t tire of them no matter how many days on the trot I ceremonially unwrap the ever more crinkled foil parcel to cut another slice for a sandwich or shred the salty pink meat to drop into soup or a salad. But a proper joint of gammon does call, at least on its first magisterial outing, for a tableful of people, and I can see that those celebrating a smaller Christmas might find themselves subscribing to Parker’s acerbic view. Abundance is a wonderful thing, but wastefulness is most certainly not. And this, my friends, is where the ham hock comes in. If you’re having a very small Christmas, a fat and stubby ham hock will provide a modest feast for two, but that’s living a bit too dangerously for me, as you run the risk of not having the wherewithal for festive sandwiches on the days ahead. But a hock is such an economical cut, that I feel I can I advise a pair of them even if there are only two of you, and you’ll still have a reassuringly festive supply of ham should there be four of you round the table.

And while we’re on the subject of festive reassurance, these hocks could hardly be simpler to cook. I don’t boil them first then roast them afterwards, as I fear the nuggets of intensely flavoured meat will start unfurling and then fall apart in the bubbling liquid which, on some occasions, hardly matters, but won’t do at all if you want to glaze and burnish them, so that they can stand resplendent on board or platter, a proper Christmassy offering. I cook them in the oven throughout, initially over low-ish heat with water, before brushing them with an easy glaze and studding them with cloves with the oven turned way up high. Now, you’ll never get elegantly thin, pink slices out of a hock, but the meat is fabulously intense and juicy, and you can carve it in parts, then cut the rest from the bone in fat chunks that just burst with supercharged savouriness.

What’s more, the collagen-rich meat makes for a rich, jellied stock which, should you soak the hocks as stipulated, should not be too salty to turn into a cosy pea and ham soup afterwards. Soak 500g / 1 lb green split peas, then add enough water to the scant, strong stock to take it up to 2 litres / 1 ¾ quarts of liquid. Pour into a large pot along with the drained, soaked split peas, add the ham bones and cook until the split peas are very soft and rather less green, adding some little pieces or shreds of leftover ham to the pot to heat through before serving.

A note on a few specifics: while you could use smoked ham hocks, I feel green (or unsmoked) is very much better for this recipe; the meat is more tender, and the stock it makes less overwhelming. I haven’t given a weight for the hocks, as they just come as they come, though they tend to have an average weight of 1.5 kilos / 3 ½ lbs each. I have specified bitter orange marmalade below, as although sweetness pairs so well with the saltiness of the meat, we don’t want all out jamminess; for the record, I use Tiptree Tawny Orange Marmalade. As for the other element in the glaze, I feel the heat of proper strong English mustard is called for here, as well as in the easy stir-together sauce that I serve with it. As for other accompaniments, I go for peas and potatoes – baked if I’m eating this on Boxing Day, or just plain steamed (or boiled) smaller spuds if it’s Christmas Eve – and I strongly recommend some crunchy pickled red cabbage on the table, too.

Finally, I must tell you that these hocks are not just for those celebrating small-scale this year: should you be spending your Christmas away from home, you can also roast a hock or two like this when you get back so that you’re not left in the awful position of having no Christmas ham in the fridge for the remainder of the season.

For those in the US, you may struggle to find cured but unsmoked ham hocks. I wouldn’t recommend using a smoked one in its place – the standard US smoke is too intense for this recipe.