Prosciutto -- Feast Off Wafer-Thin Slices Of This Italian Ham

ONE OF THE REWARDS of driving a car the size of a golf cart 90 miles per hour on an Italian autostrada is knowing you can veer off at the first citing of an Autogrill, Italy's answer to Howard Johnson's.

Like just about anything in Italy involving food, coffee and sandwiches at these roadside restaurants qualify as gourmet treats compared with American freeway fare.

My first meal in Italy after arriving from Seattle and picking up a rental car at the Milan airport last fall was lunch at an Autogrill off a stretch of highway near Genoa. Jet-lagged, hungry and frazzled after only three hours of trying to drive as fast as the Italians, I ordered a cappuccino and studied the glass case stocked with panini sandwiches.

The golden triangle of focaccia stuffed with slivers of pink ham and soft brie looked tempting. "Caldo?" the white-jacketed cook behind the counter asked, not waiting for my answer before sliding the sandwich into a grill. A few minutes later he removed a warm combo of melted brie and marbled ham.

Leave it to the Italians to turn a ham-and-cheese sandwich into a meal to remember. But even at an Autogrill, the ham isn't just ham. It's prosciutto, a smoky, silky, salt-cured ham whose production relies on centuries-old techniques.

Prosciutto, always served sliced thin as tissue paper, is the specialty of the province of Parma (the same Parma that produces Parmesan cheese) in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy.

Prosciutto di Parma is distinguished from other varieties of salt-cured ham made either here or in other countries by its rich aroma and sweet, buttery flavor. This is partly the result of what the pigs eat - whey left over from the making of Parmesan cheese - and an unhurried process of curing and aging.

"For centuries, the making of prosciutto has been an art form," says Carmine Smeraldo, owner of Il Terrazzo Carmine in Pioneer Square and its sister restaurant, Trattoria Carmine, in Madison Park. "Like many Italian things, it's been imitated but never duplicated."

Breeders select choice hind legs from 10- to 12-month old pigs that weigh in at a minimum of 330 pounds. The legs are rubbed with salt and aged for at least 400 days.

Waverley Root described the traditional curing process in "The Food of Italy," written in 1971: "The hams are boned, and undergo an esthetic operation - they are molded, smoothed and rounded to give them a pleasing contour, like a great fruit; pounded with a thick wooden paddle to eliminate wrinkles in the thick skin; and brushed energetically to polish the surface. The ham `rests' for a few days in a cold place, and then is salted."

The object, Root pointed out, "is to salt as lightly as possible, to keep the ham sweet. . . . This is abetted by the mountain air."

At the time Root published his book, the hams were hung to dry from the ceilings of homes in the mountain town of Langhirano near Parma, where the air is considered ideal for curing. Today the smoky smell of prosciutto still permeates the town, but the curing today goes on inside sprawling temperature-controlled warehouses and cool cellars rather than in tiny farmhouses.

Prosciutto most often takes its place at the Italian table as an appetizer curled alongside slices of ripe melon, figs or chunks of Parmesan. A few slices can add wintertime substance to lightly stir-fried vegetables or green salads. In the towns of the Cinque Terre, a string of five fishing villages on the Northern Ligurian coast, we were served prosciutto draped on a mushroom pizza, diced with tomatoes over pesto pasta and layered in a seafood-studded antipasto.

"All you need is imagination. Prosciutto will do the rest," says Smeraldo. Simple combinations work best. "My favorite is with figs when you can get them," he says. "It's a perfect marriage."

After a 22-year ban that began with a hog-cholera outbreak in Italy, Italian prosciutto was allowed back into the United States again in 1990.

Prosciutto di Parma at $19.99 a pound is the most expensive of seven varieties of prosciutto stocked by DeLaurenti Specialty Food Markets in Seattle and Bellevue. A domestic knockoff made in Brooklyn is the cheapest at $11.49. Other varieties come from Canada and Sweden. Owner Louie DeLaurenti recommends testing slivers of several for texture and saltiness before deciding which to buy.

"We try and stock something for everyone's tastes and budget," says DeLaurenti. "If you're cooking with prosciutto, a domestic brand will work out just fine. Domestic prosciutto is fresher because it hasn't aged as long, and tends to be more moist."

Those on a low-fat diet might want to consider Canadian prosciutto. While Prosciutto di Parma tends to be characterized by generous marbling which enhances the flavor, Canadian prosciutto is leaner because the pigs tend to be smaller.

Any prosciutto requires careful slicing, a job best left to a butcher willing to switch his electric slicer a notch away from the "off" position. If sliced too thick, it will be salty and tough. If cut too thin, it will fall apart and shred.

A quarter-pound of prosciutto will yield 9 to 10 slices which, torn in half and wrapped around chunks of cantaloupe, produces 20 appetizers.

"For $5 worth of prosciutto," DeLaurenti smiles, "you can make a wonderful presentation."

Carol Pucci is assistant business editor of The Seattle Times. Mike Siegel is a Times photographer.

CITRUS, FIG AND PROSCIUTTO SALAD --------------------------------------- Serves 6 3 medium oranges 4 ounces thinly sliced prosciutto 3 cups tightly packed torn romaine lettuce 3 cups tightly packed torn curly leaf lettuce 1 pound fresh figs, each cut into four wedges 1/3 cup fresh orange juice 2 tablespoons white wine vinegar 2 tablespoons water 1 1/2 tablespoons salad oil 1 tablespoon honey 1/2 teaspoon grated orange rind 1/4 teaspoon salt

1. Peel oranges; cut crosswise into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Cut each slice in half. Tear prosciutto slices into small pieces. 2. Combine oranges, prosciutto, lettuce and figs in large bowl; toss gently. 3. Combine orange juice, vinegar, water, oil, honey, orange rind and salt in a jar. Cover tightly and shake. 4. Drizzle orange juice mixture over salad, and toss gently to coat. Note: Small figs work best. Adapted from Cooking Light magazine