Ham Gravy

In the dark frigid recesses of my freezer is a jar;  a mason jar, sealed, it's content obscured my the thin film of frost on it's sides.  In it, is a frozen fatty globulous globe of gluten grease and salt.

Pork, as you know, has been plentiful 'round the G&T compound.  Ham has been in copious supply.  Ham.  Cured ham.  Fresh ham.  Slices of breakfast ham, ready for fried eggs, orange juice and coffee.

And Ham, when subjected to heat, renders its fats to juice, which, when thickened with rue,  transubstantiates into the holiest of holies of hillbilly cuisine.  Ham Gravy.

Now, yes, beef gravy is dark, thick and full of wonder.  Chicken gravy, well, tastes like chicken.  salty, creamy chicken, but chick nonetheless.

Ham gravy, however, is altogether another thing.  In it is the smoke from the cure, the fatty filth of the pig, and a mysterious well of salt, seemingly springing from Elysium itself...

Ham gravy, while a Epicurean marvel, should not be squandered upon potatoes.  No.  It should be applied to one thing, and one thing alone.  Biscuits.

Biscuits were born for ham gravy.  If it, however, spills off of your fluffy muffin and lands upon the scrambled egg beside it, no worry, that combo satisfies as well.

And so, each time I spy in to the freezer for the gin, or the ice or the bacon, and i see the jar of gravy in stasis, I pause and consider, "is it too late for biscuits...?"

  
Honolulu HAMmer


1 1/2 oz Vodka
1/2 oz. Amaretto
1 splash Grenadine
1 Splash Pineapple Juice


Shake over ice, serve straight up.