The wind whips through Brindisa at a terrific rate. At least it seemed to when I worked there as a jamón carver during the cold winter of 2007. I was 23, a graduate and indifferent to Spanish food. Any ambition to work with meat had been curbed by a summer job spent separating beef from fat in a factory for Sainsbury's ready meals. But I needed a job, so found myself working in the Spanish deli located in Borough Market in south London.

Brindisa was opened rather quietly in 1998 by Monika Linton, an enthusiastic ex-teacher and fluent Spanish speaker. But by the noughties, it had become a tourist attraction and was the capital's most significant importer of all things Spanish.

I wasn't allowed near the jamón at first. This needled me, but I understood their reticence. The Spanish are brilliant at elevating the ordinary. They make tinned fish seem posh and have the nerve to serve soup cold. But jamón is revered. More than 3.5kg is consumed per head every year in Spain and they're fanatical about the carving process, a full apprenticeship lasting between three and five years. Prior to being carved, each leg must be warmed to room temperature, only sliced immediately before packing and worked on at pace or else the fat oxidises. They love jamón and they couldn't allow a stray like me to practise for practice's sake on a £440 leg of Ibérico Bellota. Eventually, however, management caved and so began my three-month induction.

Chuse, Brindisa's then master carver, couldn't speak much English but they agreed to let me learn by studying and copying. Standing on full show at Brindisa's jamón counter, I quickly rea- lised that it's hard work, both technically and physically. I had to "respect the knives" (Chuse had six, including the long, thin jamonero and shorter puntilla), "respect the pig" and waste as little as possible.

The key is getting purchase on the fat with a broad puntilla knife. With a firm flick, the flesh should slip under the knife. Then, using a narrow, foot-long knife called a jamonero, follow the fibula horizontally. With the correct amount of pressure, the knife leads and you follow, each piece sliced flat and in continual rhythm until you hit the femur, at which point you turn the leg over and start down the back. The kneebone is the start and end point for slicing, and when the leg got too small, we'd prop it up on a tin of line-caught tuna. We'd shift about 10 legs a week, each weighing around 7-9kg. A good carver could extract 4kg of meat, the rest being bones and bitter, oxidised fat.

The first day, I bombed, hacking off shards of meat, several of which the customers returned. Chuse would smile, then firmly re-angle my wrist while taking orders on sheets of paper. Day two, brow furrowed, I tried again, each time slicing off another 200g of questionable thickness which I'd pop on the scales. By day three, I was carving each slice to the requisite size (about half that of a Post-it), and paper-thin. We used the word "artform" when tourists came within ear-shot, and in truth it really was.

"Jamón is a beautiful thing," says Brindisa's current master carver, Mario Hiraldo. Hiraldo grew up in Cumbres Mayores, in northern Huelva, one of the main ham-curing regions of Spain. His father, José, is still regarded as one of the best ham carvers in Spain. Not to follow in his footsteps was "unthinkable". What's more, with unemployment in Spain topping 5m, and half its 16- to 24-year-olds unemployed, ham carving is back. "It's certainly becoming fashionable," says Hiraldo. "Manual work isn't shameful."

When I was at Brindisa, we sold four different hams from two different breeds: Serrano, from country pigs fed on cereals, which render the meat more salty; and Ibérico, or pata negra, from black Iberian pigs in Spain and Portugal. An Ibérico pig is thinner, with black hooves, and far more swanky. Cured for up to four years and fattened on acorns, its meat is rich and sweet, and the fat wonderfully marbled. They're slaughtered in spring, then each leg is packed in salt for nine days or so and hung for several weeks in winter temperatures until the flesh is well salted. It then spends several months in Bikram-like heat, where it sweats until the fat has permeated the muscle. Finally, the leg is moved to a dark cellar where it is aged for several years.

As soon as I was deemed proficient, my day was spent as follows: mounted on a raised platform, I'd work furiously for two hours, sustained on habas picantes and manchego ends alone. On Saturdays, though, I was wheeled out into the market with two hams, and would carve on demand. Every morning, at 9am, wealthy Brits would come in, order 100g of Ibérico and request we remove the fat. Then came the tourists with cameras, the celebrities – James McAvoy, Daniel Craig – also with cameras, and Japanese families with children who'd paw at the glinting blades.

If you were careless, it could be dangerous. I once saw a carver shred his knuckles after absentmindedly washing his hand in a bucket of knives. I have just two scars. One small puncture from goring myself on a puntilla, the other a zig-zag from a mishap with a jamonero.

But oh, the fat. Sweet and full of oleic acid, it forms the bedrock of all that is wonderful about jamón. The fattiest part of Brindisa's Ibérico, the babilla, is sent to The Fat Duck. When tasting the ham in the morning, we'd slice off a triangle and lay it flat on our hands for around 20 seconds, until the fat started to melt. "You can't appreciate the taste when it's cold," Chuse used to explain, "but the British, they don't understand this. They don't understand jamón."

Three months later, spring came, the winds calmed and I left to join this magazine. And having acquired a far deeper respect for the pig, at least I can say I do.

HOW TO CARVE JAMON

STEP 1 Fix ham to the carving stand, with the hoof facing away from you.

STEP 2 Start by carving the babilla. Make a cut around the hoof near the top joint of the foreleg. Remove rind on one side. Remove excess fat and keep it for wrapping the ham when finished.

STEP 3 Use a long carving knife to make thin slices. The cut must be straight and parallel to the bone. Carve from punta to hoof. The carved area must be clear of skin and yellow layers of fat.

STEP 4 When near the hip bone, cut around it with a preparation knife. Turn ham over to cut the maza. Keep applying the same technique, including the cut around the hip bone in the punta.

STEP 5 When there are no more big slices left, trim the fat around the hip and start slicing this part. Trim the rind around the first cut. Below, there is a darker meat, which has a rich flavour.

STEP 6 Serve as soon as possible, at room temperature. A good tip to help enjoy all the flavour from the ham is to place the slices on a warm plate.

For more information, brindisawholesale.com