Cerdo Negro (Black Pig)
Premium acorn-fed hams by Kiko Fernández
His parents, his two sisters, his grandparents and several uncles and aunts arrived to Argentina from Andalusia in the same boat, around 1955. Since then, hams have been part of José Antonio Fernández García's life, Kiko for everybody. Hence his devotion to the masterful manufacture of pig products, with ham as the flag that makes the gastronomy of Salta and Argentina proud.
As a child, he even participated in the slaughter of the pigs in the winters, because his mother was capable of giving him a slap if he escaped to play ball during those moments of work. His memory of her is intact, as well as his remarkable admiration for that great little woman full of tenacity and character. She was widowed when he was very young, so farming and service marked his childhood, his character and, of course, his determination.
He remembers her at all times, even when he describes how with a little green stick she challenged him.
As time went by, he built up Finca La Montanera with his remarkable wife. Graciela is sweet, helpful and -above all- an unconditional companion.
Kiko's black pigs, unique in Argentina, are athletes, as he himself describes, because the food and drink disposition forces them to walk. This process guarantees that the fat -the good fat- from the acorn's oleic acid seeps into the muscle, ensuring the flavor of the ham. But for this process to take place it takes time, a long time, at least six years. In addition, they are vegetarians and naturists, they only eat grass and alfalfa, plus the four months they feed on acorns, which fall from the trees that together with Graciela they planted years ago. The pigs, by the way, are the result of an exhaustive search for the perfect breed, which originally included crossbreeding with wild boars from the Pampas plains.
In a first visit, the great Kiko showed us those black pigs, from one hundred and eighty to two hundred kilos.
The name of the farm refers to the time of the year when the fruit falls and the pigs feed on it, like the grape harvest for wine.
Someone once referred to him as the dreamer of hams, and nothing gave him so much satisfaction, because that is what he is. Kiko is one of those authentic, passionate, energetic people who achieves what he sets out to do. A classic son of immigrants who made his homeland through sheer effort.
It is impossible not to ask him to take a tour of the cold storage rooms, the dryers and the incredible subway cellar, a sacristy where his hams are aged, just below the tasting room. VIP visitors come from all over the country, from famous chefs to big businessmen and ambassadors, attracted by the fame of his name in the gourmet world.
Besides the businessman Kiko, that hyperactive and fierce leader of his business, we were lucky enough to meet the host Kiko, when we went as a family to a Sunday barbecue at his home, a typical farmhouse in the Lerma Valley.
The flames augured a great feast. It was only after entering his gastronomic mecca to understand that the day would be unforgettable. Together with his family, he began the rite of good food, well served by himself, in that large dining room decorated with his kitchen elements, in which -of course- stands out the set of huge paella pans that he made in his workshop, for one hundred, for two hundred and one for up to five hundred people! The antique kitchen, as well as the wooden refrigerator and the sink, are elements of a dignifying beauty, which he knew how to revalue and are now part of that dream place.
That Sunday the banquet was a roast of their pigs, which began with a tasting of their acorn ham.
To our surprise, the after-dinner conversation was even livelier. The fact is that Kiko is a purebred Salteño, and along with wine comes music and poetry. He was a great friend of the colossal lyricist Yuyo Montes, of whom he shared his memories with us, one of those great characters of art that are scarce nowadays.
An illustrious among so many who shared a table with him, like the one he gave us.
And so it was that after inviting us to sign the guest book of La Montanera, he recited in a loud voice a poem and the prologue that El Yuyo, shortly before his early death, wrote for his book. We were so animated that he continued with the Milonga del Pata Negra and more amusing anecdotes.
By the time night was falling and the cicada were singing in the park, we dared to leave, with our bellies full of their delicacies and our hearts even happier for having met Kiko, Graciela and their beautiful family.
Milonga del Pata Negra
Vaya poniendo en la mesa
para el cantor que lo alegra
algo que en prensa de piedra
usted viene estacionando.
Don Kiko le estoy hablando
de ese jamón pata negra.
Si usted comparte Don Kiko
más el jamón que el jamás
el multiplico y la paz
llegará a sus cochinillos.
Y así, mi buen gitanillo,
ha de tener mucho más.
Ahora vengo preparado
con un filoso cuchillo,
si no me falla el colmillo
puedo llevarle a mi china
de ese jamón que me esquiva
un kilo en cada bolsillo.
No mire para otro lado,
yo le hablo de ese jamón
que tiene en un socavón
guardando como una rata.
Cambiemos plato por plata
y ahí no cobro mi actuación.
No se olvide que una vez
lo he sorprendido comiendo
ese manjar y ahora entiendo
que muy pancho y amarrete
una loncha transparente
me dio usted como sintiendo.
Como ando un poco charcón
vengo a exponerle mi caso
con el tenor medio graso
veremos qué es lo que pasa,
si hoy yo no engordo en su casa
voy a echar panza amigazo.
Hablaré a calzón quitado
en su terreno espinoso:
yo seré un cantor dichoso
si hoy mismo con mi visita
me da una pierna enterita
de ese jamón tan famoso.
A usted como es agarrado
tal vez le suba la fiebre,
yo espero que al fin se quiebre
su resistencia gallega
y ese jamón que me niega
no corra como una liebre.
En épocas del buen tambo
canté en su casa a menudo,
nunca ligué ni un engrudo
ni chillando como grillo,
yo deseaba los quesillos
y usted se hacía el boludo.
No ha de estar haciendo planes
cuando se vaya hasta el cielo
de cargar gula en su vuelo
con porcinas tentaciones,
que al que allá se va con jamones
nunca más le crecen pelos.
Prólogo
Este prólogo mingado
hace tanto tiempo atrás,
ha puesto a mi alma sin paz,
porque el señor de la estancia
quiere limpiar mi vagancia
con un poco de aguarrás.
Y ya que estoy decidido
intentaré comenzarlo,
darle forma al encararlo,
eso sí, dueño de casa,
quién sabe si mi cachaza
puede un día terminarlo.
Parece que voy entrando
a la tercera sextilla
con una estrofa sencilla
acorde al libro presente,
tal cual lo deja la gente,
hediendo a vino y parrilla.
Al que estampe en este libro
la impronta de su presencia
le obsequio estas sugerencias
porque un abracadabra
se vuelve luz de la palabra
escrita con la conciencia.
Si en su pulso hay un temblor
de adulón hipocresía,
el libro tiene de guía
para medirlo al sincero
a un diablo muy putañero
experto en grafología.
Cuando improvise sus glosas
pase en el techo revista
deseé nomás y no insista
que hasta ahora los jamones
son, por oscuras razones,
para la foto y la vista.
Si ordena a su lapicera
palabras desamoradas
mejor pues no escriba nada,
porque el barba al que así juega
le ha de dar de la bodega
las llaves equivocadas.
El que deje el corazón
en las palabras que escribe
hace que yo me motive
para decirle a mi raza
que por orden de esta casa
una sola vez se vive.
A mí me trajo a este hogar
un sinfín de madrigales,
conocí a profesionales
aristócratas del surco
y una caterva de turcos
que aparentan ser normales.
Seres normales… ¡Qué suerte!
Si son iguales que yo:
alzaos desde el arrorró,
sibaritas sin calibre,
los que al show del diente libre
nunca le dicen que no.
Gallego cabeza dura
lindo es verte cocinar
pero ponete a pensar
que muy pronto en plena gloria
con tantas dedicatorias
tu libro se va a llenar.
Por eso este libro abierto
a la más inquietud
merece de norte a sur
y también de este a oeste
escribir sin que nos cueste:
¡Kiko Fernandez, salud!