A short excursion – 2

After our delicious meal of different kinds of ham and sausage, we decided to have a peek at the little museum that is attached to the tavern. We didn’t know what to expect and were therefore quite surprised when we were shown the actual curing process of the hams and sausages that are served and sold at the tavern.

He’s the curing chamber, where the hams and ‘noix de jambon’ are left to ‘macerate’ in coarse sea salt for several days (or is it weeks?). Because of the glass between the curing chamber and the hallway where we were allowed to pass, the picture is slightly blurred. And if you look closely you can see the reflection of yours truly taking this photo.

The small hallway in which we were standing led towards a heavy, black metal door. We pulled it open, in search of the next step of the production process. As soon as we opened it, the smell of sizzling wood hit us. We quickly stepped into the dark room, which was filled with smoke. High above our heads hung several hams, sausages and … strings of garlic happily ‘smoking’ away! At the top of the roof we could see the light that seeped in through to top of the chimney. Breathing in that room was very difficult, and before long the smoke was pricking in my eyes, making them water. I quickly shot two photos and hurried out of there, followed by B. who was badly coughing after inhaling too much of the penetrating smoke. J.L. bravely stayed behind, making more photos.

The smoking room: on top, the light seeping in through the chimney,
beneath it, the strings of garlic and bottom right the 'noix the jambon'.
All over ... the smoke!

Back in the airy dining room of the tavern, catching our breath and waiting for J.L. to re-emerge from purgatory, B. and I sniffed at our clothes and decided that we would probably smell like smoked ham and sausages for the next two days! We just hoped we wouldn’t run into a hungry dog!

Before leaving the tavern we did some shopping. I bought two jars of local jam for my mother and a small ‘sanglochons’ sausage for myself. B. and J.L. splashed out and bought a sausage, a ‘noix de jambon’ and a large string of smoked garlic. By then it was almost three o’clock and time to move on to our next destination, the village of Torgny, the picturesque Belgian village located on the border with France.

By then, a question was tingling in my head: “Would I make to France this year after all?” What do you think?