No need for a crystal ball this time. I see a ham in my immediate future. The family comes on Sunday for Easter dinner. Ian wants ham. I don't. But, as the Steve Miller Band song goes: time keeps on slippin slippin slippin into the future... Maybe it was this morning's sign that ham is the answer. There's an article on safety guidelines for an Easter ham in the Seattle Times. Yikes! Who knew there were safety issues with ham? Not I. You soak slices for an hour or two before frying. Or, you crank open the metal lid with the special key and let the processed meat flop out onto a plate, carve, and serve or fry and serve. Oh, I'm kidding. I haven't eaten a canned ham since before my Mamaw Marie died. She bought and cooked them all the time.
First, check the label to make sure you need to cook the ham. Some are pre-cooked.
Next, don't leave ham at room temperature. Ever. That's harsh. Okay, don't leave at room temperature for more than two hours at a time.
I could buy one of those pre-cooked hams from one of many spiral sliced ham joints in the area. Would that be cheating? I don't like shortcuts. I'm the woman who drives completely out of her way for a prettier view. Gasoline waster; that's who I am. My idea is this: Make one of those hams cooked in coca-cola and decorate the outside with cherries ringed with pineapple slices. That's traditional. Oh yeah, that makes sense. Plus, Nigella did it/does it. It's in one of her cookbooks. Now I remember. The photo at her website makes her ham appear yummy.
Now that ham's the main dish I must ponder its accompaniments.
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