Why Ham Cutters are the Bullfighters of the Food World

In the Spanish stand tucked between towers of Manchego, bottles of pristine olive oil and pyramids of fish tins, stood a ham cutter with the poise of a bullfighter and the look of a flamenco dancer. A bandana crowned his head while his intense dark eyes simultaneously scanned the marbled leg of Ibérico ham and the pretty ladies walking around the food fair. With a flick of the wrist, he carved a perfect slice and, without missing a beat, offered it to me, draped around the blade of his cuchillo jamonero, as if it were a small clavel or carnation. I took it nonchalantly, unaware that I was being served not by just any cortador, but by el cortador, the father of them all.

Photo by Manuel Cordero on Unsplash

I found out later that evening that he had in fact been a novillero or young bullfighter before he catapulted the role of cortador to the upper echelons of politics, royalty, and la farándula or show business. He was called Florencio Sanchidrián. Florencio. Even his name stands out among the sea of prosaic names given to most Spanish men. He tapped into every trick in the marketing playbook: the classic “revelation” narrative, the signature utensil from which he’d serve you like it was a fencing épée, the bullfighting stances of his youth and the theatrical outfits which included nods to flamenco via his signature polka dots. If there were a ham-carving telenovela, he’d be the producer, director and undisputed star. In his plaza de toros, names like King Juan Carlos, Jeff Bezos and Barack Obama were mere spectators mesmerized by his faena or bullfighting’s final act.

His celebrity status, and his price, which included flying first-class, became the aspirational model for a new generation of cortadores. Long before Instagram and TikTok created influencers, Florencio had already transformed jamón carving into high spectacle.

Decades ago, cortadores were anonymous men working diligently behind the family charcutería counter or at the mostradores of El Corte Inglés supermarket. Their skills went largely unnoticed, witnessed only by a long queue of housewives usually too busy bickering over whose turn it was - Spain’s national pastime before the invention of the electronic number display.

We all grew up with badly cut hams wobbling in cheap wooden stands, sitting next to the built-in deep fat fryer and a stack of Duralex glass plates. It wasn’t glamorous. It was just pata de jamón, most likely serrano (the white pig) and mostly desiccated like the one the actress Carmen Maura uses to kill her husband in Almódovar’s epic movie “What Have I Done to Deserve this?”.

Now you find the finest ibéricos front and center at the events and weddings of the culinary cognoscenti. It is a cliché that comedy duo Pantomima Full, one of Spain’s most merciless social observers, include in their tongue-in-cheek list of hortera or tacky wedding musts alongside the candy cart, food truck, the 360° photo booth and the head-to-toe white fiesta ibicenca or Ibiza style party the night before.

The modern cortador still strikes poses out of the golden age of matadores and toreros when bullfighting rinks were full to the brim and the well-heeled would immerse themselves not only in la corrida or bullfight (the men) but also in their off-rink lives (the women). Cortadores are no longer called Luis, Pepe or Paco; they go by maestros or masters with the most PR savvy sporting “man buns” very similar to the traditional bullfighter’s ponytail or coleta.

Ham cutting and bullfighting share three traits: precision, ritual, and a reverence for the animal. In the case of the latter, the animal is the noble black-hoofed pig or cerdo ibérico. This pig breed is a descendant of the wild boar and is known for its rich, nutty flavor, melt-in-your-mouth fat, and complex gamey aroma developed over years of curing. The Ibérico has had a wild journey from almost extinction in the 1960s to an iconic world product today. Fermín, a family-owned producer based in tiny, picturesque La Alberca, Salamanca, cracked open the USA market, a feat once considered impossible due to import bans- a costly process that took ten years of USDA inspections to the purpose built factories. Never mind that the company nearly went bankrupt in the process and ended up being absorbed by its arch-rival Cinco Jotas. Once it entered José Andrés’ upscale but approachable restaurants and every fancy tapas place in the country, it set the stage for the theatrical ham cutter to arrive.

Spain’s rockstar chefs; men who season their cuisine with equal parts testosterone and creativity, have also served as inspiration for the industry. Just like in cooking, ham cutting accreditations and competitions have sprung up all over the peninsula with many claiming to have developed new and innovative techniques. Aspiring cutters can do a professional ham slicing course, knife sharpening courses or catas sensoriales de jamón (fancy name for ham tastings) that will teach the difference between the quality grades, the protected denominations of origin the animals hail from and the organoleptic qualities of the pata or leg and its parts.

But unlike chefs, the modern cortador is out in the open, a living part of the ever expanding gastronomic show and not hidden backstage. His posture, his gestures, even his wardrobe, all matter. Carving jamón ibérico is no minor task, when a client spends thousands of euros on a pata, and pays extra for a carver, expectations run high. Each delicate lasca must be perfectly sliced, thin as silk, with a good proportion of fat and artfully plated, preferably like a fan. A good cortador doesn’t just slice; he knows exactly where the maza (the main muscle) ends and the babilla (the knuckle) begins. He rotates the leg with solemnity. But above all, he never cuts thick slices. That’s blasphemy. The tools of the cortador come encased in a black padded case: a jamonero, the stand that holds the leg at just the right angle, a cuchillo jamonero a long, flexible, and terrifyingly thin knife, a sharpening steel, a boning knife, a rind kinife, tweezers, gloves and that is just for starters.

Ham cutters of note today might not all have the flashy personality of Florencio Sanchidrián but nevertheless they have inherited some of the maestro’s arte or flair.

The “samurai of ham” Emilio García Ortigosa is well known for his glittering, custom knives that include Japanese katanas. His flamboyant portraits, where he poses in black leather studded with red metal dots or samurai skirts with his signature “man bun” are more Vogue magazine than culinary press. In the media, he is a maverick that in defiance of ham purists pairs ibérico with flavours like sesame, ginger and wasabi using untraditional cuts like matchstick, in what he has named estilo or style GO (his initials). Book author, restaurant-owner and Masterchef Celebrity guest, he is the heir apparent of Sanchidrián.

García Ortigosa’s book

Victor Sanchego is “El jamonero de Tik Tok” with 1.6 million followers. This young father of one slices ham to the tune of “Yo Me Estoy Enamorando" by Jorge Molero and other popular songs. Razor sharp in his offerings (his real business is selling ham and ham utensils) and his collabs, one of the latest being with RoRo (Rocio Bueno) Spain’s answer to @Ballerinafarm and to tradwives, this “hamfluencer” crafts snappy phrases such as: “Después de una novia en una boda el más importante es el jamón” or “after the bride in a wedding the most important thing is the ham”.

Roberto Santalla is the earnest side of ham cutters, always in neatly pressed aprons and chef whites with his name embroidered on them. With his clean cut and handsome looks he passes for a young accountant at any Big Four. You might spot him on national TV or radio where you just know what he says about ham has to be 100% true. If I ever get remarried and need a ham cutter, Roberto will be my first port of call.

And in keeping with our more woke times we have maestro Carlos Sánchez whom if you spotted in the streets of New York, where he has spent considerable time, he might be mistaken for a Scandinavian yoga instructor. Soft spoken, blond and with you guessed it, a “man bun”, Sánchez worked under the patronage of the world famous José Andrés. Despite hailing from Burgos, a city not known for jamón, his hard work at his family’s carnicería or butcher and a fortuitous introduction to a concert producer launched him to an international career. His zen-like qualities allowed him to pioneer a technique by which he can cut a ham in 4000 mini tapa slices.

In the end, the cortador is part of long line of enterprising Spaniards from flamenco dancers to tourism executives, serving drama, fiesta, and a little bit of flair.