We took some prosciutto to a party recently. The party was the blissful, adults-only kind; the kind where candles are perched, aflame, on low tables, unguarded; where spirits and unedited language flow freely; in other words the kind far too seldom in our filial rounds these days. And so to this escape, we took two types of prosciutto: some danged good Italian prosciutto di parma as well as some American duck prosciutto from our very own Hudson Valley (both bought at one of our favorite food shops, Joan’s on Third). The next day’s leftovers (which, coincidentally, rhymes with hangovers) made a perfect addition to family brunch. I did my usual pimenton scrambled eggs (scrambled eggs cooked in a butter/olive oil mixture to which a good jolt of Spanish pimenton de la vera, or smoked paprika, has been added) and then gave the kids a taste of the pig prosciutto and the duck prosciutto. My kids love classic Italian prosciutto and wolfed that down first with typical gastrokid gusto. They hit the duck prosciutto with same ferocity. For about three chews. Then the gaminess overtook the briny sweetness of the duck and both the kids spit it out. Pigs win. (or, do they lose?)
—Hugh
