Unusually I am up first…..on a Sunday…..on Easter Sunday! After an over enthusiastic purchase informed by online recipe browsing, every joint looks small in a trolley!! It was necessary to rise early and prepare said hulk of meat for feasting. ‘7 minute prep’ was a significant draw in the recipe of choice, I am not lying – well after copious lengths to prep said carcass, I’m not going to resume my ‘lie in’ either!!
As if the menu wasn’t enough, I opened the guest list when trading an invite for a hefty iron casserole dish, off a sister from another mister, (which incidentally I picked up on foot….doh!) Collection was the first step – nay the first stagger, drag and drop, shoulder socket detaching move. I mean cast iron! I’m not smelting my food into space dust to feed relatives of the future Mars migrants!
That said, maybe a seven hour slow roast would compromise the very infrastructure of a lesser receptacle and douse my lamb extraordinaire in unpalatable ceramic sherbert…….less teary eyed, ‘This is lovely’ more teary eyed ‘I’m choked…….no really…..help!’
Size matters. It does when the leg of lamb is bigger than the dish you are planning to cook it in! Advice from a wiser family member suggested a common hacksaw was the solution. (Will probably have to feed him too now the proverbial Easter dinner cat is out of the bag)
Disclaimer: we are absolutely NOT having cat for Easter dinner! Under no circumstances have any family pets been harmed during this process. (Except maybe the dog, but just mild emotional discomfort at the comparative disappointment when receiving a bowl of dried biscuits instead of anything resembling a leg of lamb!)
She really did look gutted…… in a hang dog sort of way.
A swift douse in hot water satisfied my concern about the blade having been used previously for the likes of poison ivy, and I set about the protruding bone like Nigel Kennedy on the crescendo of a rock classic. However a heartening loud crack led to swift disappointment when I realised the blade had given up before the lamb! So I hacked it off with a carving knife instead.
Look, there is no way to dress that up. I’m just glad the kids weren’t aware of the violent butchery that assailed a few feet from their sleeping forms. No amount of chocolate induced serotonin would alleviate those images!
I tried reassuring myself it’s the taking part that counts……..
Only searing the meat, chopping the veg, peeling five hundred garlic cloves, (ok eight, but it felt like five hundred) and bringing the stock to the boil left to do.
The oven was hot, well warm……ok, not cold in no time. I double checked with a wiser, ok an older person, that a temperature which would equate to nothing more than a tepid wash might be capable of making my spring feast less blood bath. (Sorry veggies, it could have been worse, although probably not!) In double checking I wantonly exuded another invite, mutton for punishment!
Usually on Easter Sunday (some would say most days) I am the last one up. Usually the trail of the Easter Bunny gets first light. Today everyone is invited, no guest limit, to a whole new start.
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