By New Year's Eve, and the Hoppin' John ritual continues — the black-eyed peas soaking, the ham hock simmering, the annual prayer for luck that is not prayer for luck but prayer for continuity, which is the only luck I believe in. The peas will be ready by morning. The morning will be the new year. And the new year will hold whatever it holds, and I will cook through it the way I have cooked through the last six years: one meal at a time, one week at a time, one Sunday she-crab soup at a time.
2021 is ending. The year James graduated and started law school. The year Carrie went to Kyoto. The year the cookbook reached one hundred and forty pages. The year Mama's blessing shrank to one word. The year Robert built a writing desk and a cookbook stand and a cedar chest and a garden bench and a bookshelf for Joy, which is to say the year Robert built the furniture of our lives, which is to say the year Robert loved us in walnut and cherry and cedar.
Robert and I toasted at midnight on the piazza — champagne, the good kind, the annual tradition that has survived every disruption and that will survive the next one, whatever it is. We toasted to the family. To the house. To the kitchen that has held everything. To the cookbook that is being written. To the peas that will bring luck or continuity or both. The toasting was the midnight prayer, and the prayer was the champagne, and the champagne was the hope, and the hope was the bubbles rising in a glass on a piazza in Charleston at midnight on December 31st, 2021.
Mama was asleep. The sleeping was the peace. The peace was the midnight. And the midnight was the turning, and the turning was the year, and the year was the life.
The ham hock goes into the pot with the peas every year — that’s the tradition, and traditions are not questioned in this kitchen. But on New Year’s Day itself, when the Hoppin’ John has done its work and the family gathers properly, there needs to be a ham at the center of the table, something worthy of the year we are walking into. This Cranberry Glazed Ham is that ham: the sweet-tart glaze catching the light the way champagne bubbles do, the rosy meat carrying the kind of warmth that walnut and cherry and cedar carry when someone builds you a bench to sit on, a shelf to hold your books, a life assembled one careful joint at a time.
Cranberry Glazed Ham
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 2 hours 30 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 45 minutes | Servings: 12
Ingredients
- 1 bone-in fully cooked ham (6 to 8 pounds)
- 1 can (14 ounces) whole-berry cranberry sauce
- 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
- 1/4 cup orange juice
- 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- Whole cloves for studding (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 325°F. Place the ham cut-side down in a large roasting pan. Score the surface in a diamond pattern about 1/4 inch deep. If desired, press a whole clove into the center of each diamond.
- Make the glaze. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the cranberry sauce, brown sugar, orange juice, Dijon mustard, ground cloves, and cinnamon. Stir and cook for 5 to 7 minutes until the sugar dissolves and the mixture is smooth and slightly thickened. Reserve 1/2 cup of the glaze for serving.
- Glaze and roast. Brush the ham generously with the cranberry glaze. Cover loosely with foil and roast for 1 hour 45 minutes, basting with additional glaze every 30 minutes.
- Finish uncovered. Remove the foil and brush on a final thick coat of glaze. Return to the oven uncovered for 30 to 45 minutes, until the glaze is caramelized and the internal temperature reaches 140°F.
- Rest and serve. Transfer the ham to a carving board and let it rest for 15 minutes before slicing. Warm the reserved glaze and pass it at the table alongside the carved ham.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 380 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 1420mg