"Needs to be a rear leg," Elias told the butcher, a man named Gus whose apron looked like a topographical map of a very busy morning. "High on the shank, plenty of marbling."
The tiled floor of Miller’s Meats hummed with the sound of a heavy-duty bandsaw, but Elias didn't look up. He was there for one thing: the centerpiece of the annual solstice dinner. He had the list—organic greens, fingerling potatoes, sharp cheddar—but at the very top, underlined twice, were five words that carried the weight of a decade of tradition: Buy ham on the bone. buy ham on the bone
When the timer finally dinged, Elias pulled it out. The skin had lacquered into a deep, mahogany crust. The bone, protruding slightly from the center, was the anchor of it all, conducting heat deep into the center to keep the meat falling-off-the-fork tender. "Needs to be a rear leg," Elias told
"Twelve pounds," Gus grunted, thudding it onto the scale. "Acorn-fed. The bone is where the magic happens. You boil that down for soup the next day, you’ll see God." He had the list—organic greens, fingerling potatoes, sharp