Brindisa ham carving school

I'm an unashamed hispanophile and relish every opportunity I get to indulge my passion for Spain. Last year I went to a tasting of the 2006 and 2007 vintages of Joselito ham, paired with Dom Perignon 2000. It was heaven.

This year the lovely people at Brindisa invited me to one of their ham carving workshops at the Brindisa shop in Borough Market. Held every first Thursday of the month, the classes are proving incredibly popular and sell out well in advance, despite the rather hefty £85 price tag.

An email beforehand advises me to wrap up warm, and arriving at the open-air shop under the arches of London Bridge, I can see why. I'm seated round a long table with fellow jamón lovers, and given a blanket and water bottle to cuddle. Before the class starts, we have to sign an 'exclusion of responsibility' disclaimer that ends: 'Brindisa will not be help responsible for any accidents or injuries that may result from the tutored ham carving activities'. Gulp.

Assistant manager Alberto then takes us on a tour through the history of jamón, which dates back to Roman times, when they used to put Serrano ham legs on coins. A massive 50 million legs are produced each year in Spain for us greedy ham guzzlers. We're each given a plate with four different hams to try, to compare the different styles. They're all surprisingly different, from the chewy Jamón de Monroyo Reserva, to the smokey bacon like Jabu Recebo.

The last two hams are the highest quality, made from the prized Ibérico pigs that roam the acorn-filled plains of Extremadura in north west Spain. Pictures of black pigs frolicking in fields are dutifully passed round. The third ham we try, Jamón de la Dehesa de Extremadura Bellota, is darker than the first two, with a strong, rich, almost sweet flavour. The delicious strips dissolve on the tongue. Last up is the Joselito Gran Reserva Bellota. Joselito prides itself on being the top Ibérico ham producer. The Joselito estate is so expansive, their pigs have 3.5 hectares of land each to run wild in. The resulting flavour is more elegant and subtle.

After our comparative tasting, master carver Zac Innes steps up to teach us some knife skills. He compares the shape of the Serrano ham to a guitar and the Ibérico, with its slim foot and black trotter, or pata negra, to a violin. He then whips out a 'jamonero', a long, thin, carving knife, but recommends removing the fat with a bread knife. Each ham has to be checked for defects before carving, like a sommelier would a wine before pouring. To do this, Zac uses a 'cala', a tiny stick made from beef bone. He plunges it in the Ibérico leg and has a whiff. It's perfect.

After a few expert slices are shorn, it's our turn to carve. I don a navy apron and a gladiatorial looking sliver chain mail glove to protect my right hand while I carve with my left. I'm nervous; knife skills are not my forte. We get to take home whatever we carve, which adds a sense of urgency to the proceedings.

I pick up my jamónero and start pulling it through the meat, conscious of the fact that I'm against the clock. Zac turns to help the carver to my left, and I'm left to my own devices. I start making dramatic sweeping movements with my knife, like an orchestra conductor, through the marbly flesh. Zac turns around, looks at the ham and gasps. 'What are you doing? You've massacred it!'

He seems horrified. I drop the jamónero and look down the length of the leg. What was once a smooth plain of flesh is now a jagged mess. I apologise to Zac for my over-zealous approach and he assures me he's seen worse. I'm given a second chance and try my best to keep the knife straight, cutting in a short, quick, sawing motion.

I find my rhythm and cut a couple of perfect strips before being asked to step away from the ham. Alberto bags it up for me, and I'm given a goodie bag with jamón tacos (great for stocks), a tub of ham fat for cooking with, and a generous portion of the Jabu Recebo. Making my way home through the flower-filled market, I pass the Brindisa restaurant on the corner. It's so full, diners are spilling out onto the streets. London, it seems, is also in love with Spain.

Fortnum & Mason: Dom Pérignon & jamón

There is possibly only one thing better than drinking Dom Pérignon 2000 on a Monday evening, and that's drinking Dom Pérignon 2000 with Joselito Gran Reserva ham, or jamón as I prefer to call it.

Fortnum & Mason had laid on a tasting of the latest 'vintage' of Joselito – 2007 – alongside millennium vintage Dom Pérignon and, as a comparison, 2006 Joselito. The two brands are more similar than you might think. Joselito is in the top tier of Iberico ham producers – a first growth of the ham world occupying the same sort of niche in its field as Dom Pérignon does Champagne, with an 'off the leg' slice price of £200/kg and an 8kg ham going for £600 a pop.

So do Dom Pérignon and jamón make for a match in gourmet heaven? You wouldn't think so, but they go surprisingly well. Neither dominates the other. The ham seems to bring out the freshness of the Champagne and tempers the acidity, while the wine cuts through the fat of the ham and cleanses the palate.

It was fascinating to compare the jamón 'vintages'. After tasting a few slithers of each, you quickly become aware of the vast differences between the two. The younger 2007 vintage was lighter in colour and more translucent. Fine as silk with marbly flesh, its delicacy and refinement proved a better platefellow for the DP than the richer '06.

The 2006 was noticeably darker - ham ages the opposite way to wine, gaining colour with age and turning from light red to dark purple at its oldest. The '06 was almost purple and had a much stronger, more intense flavour. Fattier, meatier and richer, you could taste the maturity. It had a delicious umami-rich savouriness that would pair wonderfully with a bone dry Fino or Manzanilla.

How good a ham tastes depends on three things: the breed, the feed and the ageing process. Hams are cured in cellars for varying lengths of time depending on their size. Joselito is aged for a minimum of three years and a maximum of seven. The heavenly ham, known as pata negra, comes from black Iberico pigs raised in south-west Spain. In order to be called Iberico, the pigs must have at least 75% Iberico blood, but Zac Innes, Brindisa's maestro cortador, assures me that Joselito only use 100% Iberico pigs.

The best hams, known as 'bellota', are fed acorns for their last few months, which impart a nutty sweetness to the jamón. The acorn harvest begins anytime between September and November, at which point the pigs are fattened up in a process called montanera, where they eat around 80% 0f their body weight in acorns over four months. But Iberico pigs are notoriously fussy and will only sniff out the best acorns to munch on.

Like wine, Iberico ham operates under a DO system, with four DOs currently in place in Salamanca, Extremadura, Huelva (home to the ham town of Jabugo) and Córdoba. The trend for Iberico ham is growing – earlier this year Harrods opened 5J Iberico Ham House, a restaurant dedicated to the marbled meat complete with in house 'maestro cortador' (master cutter).

Despite its rise in popularity, Iberico ham is sill very much a luxury product, making up only 5% of the Spanish ham market. Quality comes at a price – a pack of Joselito Gran Reserva will set you back £20, but the ham is at the top of its game and offers a melt-in-the-mouth taste that can't be copied – accept no imitations.

Dom Pérignon 2000 tasting note: attractive pale lemon colour with floral aromas and a light lemon lift. Subtle and refined, it showed elegance and finesse on the palate with wonderful freshness and delicate buttered biscuit aromas. Crisp, airy and rich in the mouth with honeyed nuances, the wine was surprisingly youthful for its nine years and had a long refreshing finish. Devastatingly drinkable.