On the menu this week: Ham, Ham, Ham, Ham

As a nation that relies on the lucrative tourism industry, Spain has used its ancient traditions to create attractive images of the country and to pull in holiday makers.

But most Spanish bars and restaurants don’t have Sangria or paella on the menu, and San Miguel is not a popular beer in the non-tourist areas of the country.

I touched down in Spain with the idea that her culinary (and many other) traditions were fading; that’s to say that a diet of Jamón Serrano, Tortilla de Patatas and paella was an image created by clever PR campaigns to attract tourists. This is the same image that has allowed the La Tasca chain of restaurants to cash-in on the tapas trend in recent years.

One well-known symbol of Spain which does continue to play an enormous part in its culture is its famous dry-cured ham, Jamón serrano. Literally translated ‘Mountain ham,’ this delicacy can be found at the top of every bar’s food menu, can be seen hanging from butcher’s windows around town and has an entire isle dedicated to it in my local supermarket.


Bigas Luna’s 1992 film Jamón, Jamón (Ham, Ham) starring a 16-year-old Penélope Cruz (right), was set in this region of Aragón, on the Monegros desert where I work in a school. The characters’ obsession with ham and bullfighting are comical in the film; the male protagonist becomes aroused by joints of meat and defeating bulls. This, I assumed, was an exaggeration of the love Spaniards have for their Jamón.

But during the recent fiestas del Pilar in Zaragoza, I saw men walking around the streets of the city with enormous joints of ham cradled in their arms and a sharp knife in their hands, slicing some off to satisfy the hunger of those around them as they made their way through the traditional annual parade in typical Aragonese costumes.

And it is not just the older generations with this unimaginable addiction to this salted meat; the younger generation are just as obsessed with it and continue Spain’s devotion to its ham. During my first weeks working in a Spanish school, I had to introduce myself to and take questions from 19 classes of 12 to 18-year-olds.

I stand in front of the classes, nervous about what they’re going to ask me having never been in a Spanish school before. I can see the reluctance in their faces, some having questions on their minds for the foreigner at the front but being too nervous to ask them. And then I get it. In a thick Spanish accent I’m asked: “Do you like the Spanish ham?”
Joints of Spanish ham hanging in a butchers. PHOTO: Hunda

Without exception, the first query I got from every group was not asking where I was from, what I was doing in their class or how old I was but whether I liked their dried meat. I could see the frustration on the faces of the younger students with a basic level of English as they struggled to ask me this important question in my language. There were twelve and thirteen-year-olds faced with what could have been the first Británico they have met and this is the first thing they want to know about them.

When I reply that I am fond of a slice or two on a salad I am their new best friend and we can get down to learning some English. I have since been asked this same question by the same classes over and over again. It seems that the students seek some type of reassurance of my acceptance of their culture and traditions; they need to know that they can trust this stranger that only speaks English to them by making sure he is living the Spanish life, understands it and isn’t trying to change it.

The boys are the ones with a real, old-fashioned love for their ham bocadillos. There are competitions between them to see who can bring the best sandwich to school and they guard it between classes, making sure no one steals it. In classes in the morning and early afternoon the radiators in the classrooms are littered with long sandwiches wrapped in tin foil. One student tells me that not only does the radiator keep the bread warm but it makes sure that the ham is still soft for when they get stuck in to their snack at break time. This is a long way from children queuing up for the tuck shop at lunch for a packet of Monster Munch and a cheap sugary drink with a red straw; this is serious stuff.

Life always seems a lot simpler in the more remote areas of Spain and even though a lot of the children come from poor families, their sole concern is how hot the radiator gets so that their sandwich is soft for break time.

It's not just the paella that's heated

Spaniards are not known for their reserved nature or their ability to keep their thoughts locked up.

Some of the country’s mainstream television channels hold fiery daytime debates about hot topics in the headlines and participants sure don’t hold any punches in making their feelings known.

For a Brit used to Question Time on a Thursday night, it can be difficult to understand these hectic, unorganised and anarchic shows. Whereas the BBC has a relaxed panel of media-trained politicians churning out pre-written speeches, a carefully arranged studio and a white haired, experienced television presenter calming down the audience, these Spanish shows are made up of numerous individuals dispersed around the studio; some stand, others sit on stools and others read newspapers. They interrupt, shout over each other and stamp their feet when they hear something they object to. At the same time, bustling bars have these programs on full volume as punters, beer in hand, try their best to get their views heard over those of the featured guests.

In fact, I’ve discovered that if a Spaniard has an opinion on something, and they usually have one about everything, they’ll tell you (which is great when you’re writing a blog on Spain). Ask a countryman here about politics, religion or history, and you should expect a tirade against somebody or something. As a Spanish student, I had seen and heard some evidence of this concept on television and radio before coming to this country.

Travelling home after a long day at work I decide to test this theory on a car full of colleagues. I ask about the local agricultural towns that house the pupils of the secondary school we work in and then listen in amazement as my three compañeros pick apart each other’s arguments about the ‘non-cultured’ peoples of the local farming towns for the entire forty minute journey back in to town. They clash over what type of image of the area they should be portraying to me, a foreigner who is still making their mind up about a new home.

I struggle to keep up with the pace of the conversation and I’m unsure whether I’ve encouraged a good debate to pass the time of the journey or whether I’ve provoked a genuine argument that has become between colleagues; with the tone of their voices it is difficult to tell. I have since come to understand that this is a normal conversation between friends in Spain. I catch “no, you listen to me ‘boy’” before another debate begins.

One colleague tells me about the local area of Huesca. She describes the scenery and the ancient history of the Moors defending their land from the Christians approaching from the nearby Pyrenees Mountains. She appears to be proud of what she has to tell me. But another, younger teacher has no qualms about telling his older counterpart that she is totally wrong about the idea that everyone in the area is proud of its history.

“We have a cathedral, we live in a fantastic place but nobody cares,” he says. “We don’t even care about our families anymore.” This is certainly not an image of Spain I had had in my head before coming.

View of Huesca from the City's cathedral. PHOTO: Murcianboy

We pull up outside my apartment and my colleagues quieten down and say goodbye for the day. I could see them continue their debate, fingers pointed, as they pull away. I had only wanted to know about the areas my students came from and instead had started a long debate between locals which, for the majority, I couldn’t understand.

This was my first day at work and my first week living in Huesca. I would soon come to realise that my combined commute of ninety minutes to and from work would feature regular lively debates between my outspoken work colleagues. I’ve already become used to the Spaniards’ way of talking to each other during discussions; I’ve had no choice but to get used to it living with two Spanish students.