How an Easter Ham Turned Into a Bittersweet Lesson on Letting Go

How an Easter Ham Turned Into a Bittersweet Lesson on Letting Go
© Provided by Southern Living
Getty/Lew Robertson
My Uncle Jon was a big man with an even bigger smile, who liked to drink "sweet tea" (read: bourbon) when he cooked. He was born and raised a few blocks from the water, and his culinary know-how shined brightest when it came to Lowcountry coastal classics like red rice, shrimp and grits, and oyster pie. Conversely, the food memory that still lingers on my taste buds is a more universal one—the Easter ham. 
On par with the Thanksgiving turkey, Uncle Jon's ham was the centerpiece of our Easter dinners. He spent decades perfecting his technique, which was a multi-day affair that began with procuring the ham—a whole ham. When the Harris Teeter butcher once politely informed him that they didn't sell those anymore, he quipped: "Has anyone told the pig?" The butcher, assuming he meant the grocery store and not the animal, responded: "They don't carry them either." Uncle Jon eventually tracked down a whole ham and delighted in retelling the story, which we're not entirely convinced he didn't embellish. (When telling tales, he often had a fisherman's relationship with the truth.)

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