Slap the Ham

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• December 29, 2024

Years ago, when I was a scrawny teenager working in a catering hall, I quietly stood in the kitchen waiting for my “duty” of the cocktail hour, which was almost always passing hors d’oeuvres. I didn’t mind it much, because it was mindless, and I, like everyone else, would snatch appetizers off the plate and eat it myself. That was probably the best part of working there— eating the food yourself. It was a pretty fancy catering hall on the water. We all wore tuxedos. Mine fit me like a tent and made me look even younger than I was.

The cocktail hours were often extravagant. With all sorts of options, from a raw bar, to several meat carving stations, a pasta station, the biggest charcuterie you could imagine, and a wall of chaffing dishes. The boys were usually the ones to carve the different meats. The place was sexist like that, where males and females were expected to fill a role more suited for their gender. I was already accustomed to workplace sexism, after working a couple years at the marketplace on Fire Island where there were “boy” jobs and “girl” jobs.

Sometimes there was a baked ham. Truthfully, I’m not usually a ham lover. I didn’t like ham cold cuts or ham sandwiches very much. But a baked ham was something different. This ham had the most delicious skin, basted in sweetness with just a small layer of fat. Juicy. I loved this ham almost as much as I loved a spiral ham during the holidays, where especially my Aunt Cathy and Aunt Sandy made a gigantic ham I felt I could pick at all day.

The knife to cut the ham was different than the knives used to cut the roast beef or turkey. It was somewhat flexible. And the boys, when they didn’t think any guests were looking, would “spank the ham,” inn-appropriately, for laughs among us staff. Most of the things we did behind the backs of our superiors or patrons (though, truthfully, I don’t think any of us cared if we were caught, we all drank on the job and yes, I was in high school) were crude or perverted by nature. We managed to have fun.

Anyway. Christmas’s Eve’s Eve, my siblings got together (with their kids) at my brother’s apartment for a little holiday family gathering. Our parents had already gone back to Florida, though we had had a family party with them as well. Most of my holiday parties had taken place already… multiple family parties and friend parties. It was a joyous holiday season, indeed. I love the holidays, because I love seeing my family and friends. We decided to order a seafood boil. We love seafood. We ordered from a place called Voodoo Crab, which we’ve had before and is quite tasty.

That night, I stayed by my brother’s with his son, who just adores Christmas, and we adore each other. He was so excited for Aunt Lori to sleep over and read him books and cuddle with him. That alone was a Christmas gift to me, as I love my nephews and niece more than life itself. After reading several books to him, I turned out the light and he curled next to me, placing his little hand on mine. I kissed his cute blond head, and we both drifted into sleep. It was, for a while, the perfect evening…

Until a couple hours later, I woke up with my stomach hurting. This would be the first diarrhea of many that night. The boil was turning on me in my stomach. I felt quite queasy, and pretty certain I would throw up, but hoped I wouldn’t. I did though. Multiple times. How the food violently came out of me rotated between both ends. It was not a pretty sight, and even worse smell. My sister, I later found out, also had stomach issues, but not to the severity I did. I do have the weak stomach of the family, and likely had a bad clam. I spent all of Christmas Eve immobile on my brother’s couch, sipping Pedialyte and occasionally nibbling on toast.

Unfortunately, I missed out on the true seafood fest at my Uncle Keith’s, which I was greatly looking forward to, as my Uncle Keith’s cooking (and company!) is second to none. I briefly stopped by there Christmas Day to see the Butcher family, but my appetite was null and my body was still tired from it’s lack of nutrients, so I ended going home to rest more and watch movies from the comfort of my bed. It’s alright, though, as I said, I’ve had a full and busy December making merry with all my loved ones— so I didn’t feel I missed out on much.

Back home, I smoked a lovely little joint and watched Christmas movies in the light of my little Christmas tree. All was well. My apartment was void of food, so I did grocery shopping on Amazon Fresh and scheduled a delivery in the morning. You see… if you have barely eaten anything in 48 hours and are stoned, you might make some rash decisions while shopping the virtual aisle’s of a grocery store. And when I saw that a spiral ham was on sale, I thought, “I need that.” I did not need that. Also… it was WAY more expensive than I thought it would be since it’s per pound… and since I wasn’t going to pick it out, some random delivery person would just pick the first ham and in the morning, I’d have an eight pound ham (quality, Whole Foods ham!) at my door.

I’ve never made a spiral ham before, but I like cooking, and I’m a pretty good cook, though not as good as my mom, Uncle Keith, Aunt Cathy or Aunt Sandy. Still, I made the ham, making a creative glaze out of an apple pie moonshine I had. The ham looked, smelled, and indeed tasted delicious. I had done it! The problem now being, I live alone and now it’s just me and eight pounds of ham.

For the love of baby Jesus, what am I going to do with all this ham! I don’t want this much ham. I don’t eat beef and usually eat a limited amount of pork because I have high cholesterol to begin with. I texted my various artist friends and comedians who live in Astoria, and also my neighbor and landlords. “Hey, this is random, but doesn’t anyone want ham?!!!” My neighbor and landlords said they were buried in leftovers already, my comedian friends were out of town, so only my buddy Greg was around to take some of this ham.

My mom suggested freezing it. I would freeze SOME of it, but that still left me with like six pounds of ham. I then thought of this woman who runs this little cafe in Astoria. She is originally from Morocco and she is super sweet and hard working. She calls me “the girl with the good body” because sometimes I’d go in there for a smoothie after runs. I’d like all of you to refer to me as “the girl with the good body.” I knew she would gladly take the ham and use to it to feed others.

The next day, I walked over there with the large pot covered in tinfoil, a giant slab of tasty meat in side.

“Hey, it’s me, the girl with the good body,” is not what I said, but I was thinking it. She was so grateful of my offering. “God bless you,” she kept saying over and over (I mean, this was over $50 worth of ham). She thanked me up and down, but really, I just want to remain “the girl with the good body” and I couldn’t do that having this much ham around. She was happy she got free ham, and I was happy to pay forward a good deed and that I wouldn’t waste food. This is what Christmas is all about, kindness and giving (if you can afford it) to not just people you love, but your community.

In the end, it was all worth it to me. Though, I must say, eight pounds of ham might be my strangest “late night and stoned” purchase. Initially, I could have slapped myself for buying such a ridiculous sized ham, with money I need elsewhere, but instead, I laughed at myself and slapped that ham. It’s just money, after all. And it’s just ham. Smile, for our bellies are full and we go into a new year, healthy, surrounded by people with goodness in their hearts.