Most days when I’m out running my goal is to spend time thinking about the beauty of nature and to ponder our place in the universe. Yesterday, I really concentrated on ham. The consumption of a pig leg and Easter seem married to one another, albeit a complacent marriage at that. I don’t know why ham is the official entrée of Easter. Certainly the disciples of Jesus didn’t go and prepare a ham when they found His tomb was empty on that first, glorious Easter morning. Owing to their religious and societal bonds, the followers probably did a lot of shrugging before finally going out for Dim Sum. That was when the ham shrug was born. “What do you want for Easter?” I dunno. How about ham?
Why is there an Easter bunny, but no egg hiding pig? The cute, fuzzy rabbit leaves candy and gets to appear on cards and become immortalized in chocolate sculptures. The ham gets stuck with cloves, covered in drippy glaze and baked for several hours. In some circles this is considered fetish behavior. I would like to see more pigs on greeting cards and story books trotting down Ham Shank Lane, with baskets full of truffles. Pigs are purported to be somewhat intelligent animals who devise games in the their pens. They can’t be that smart, though, because somehow they became the go-to food of Easter. If they had just a bit more sense, pigs might think outside the pen. They’d grow up, become restless and ask each other “You know, I want to break free of this town. It smells like hogs. I’d like to be in some pea soup or some hot dog nachos.” Oh well. I’m going to several Easter weekend get-togethers featuring ham, and I will salute the noble swine. Without ham, we might still be standing around waiting for the first ice-cream truck of Spring to roll by.