Amy Dawson grew up ashamed of the family ham. It was pink and huge – close to 40lb – and sat on the kitchen counter, wrapped in newspaper throughout the winter. The ham had a hardened outside layer of dehydrated fat, which Dawson’s mom would cut into with a butcher’s knife, revealing a rich, ruby red inside. She would soak the meat she had sliced off and fry it up the next day for dinner, repeating those steps over the rest of the season.
It was delicious, but Dawson, who grew up in a farming family in West Virginia, felt humiliated when she brought friends over.
