December 25, 2005
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Christmas Eve Dinner
When Delia and Cathy both work long hours, as for the last three weeks, it falls to me to prepare dinner. Sometimes it isn't much, but something more is expected on Christmas Eve. This year I decided to experiment with a boned lamb leg, something Cathy usually prepares. She is the expert at it.
Knowing what I was up to, Cathy dropped a pile of cookbooks on me, massive volumes individually that, together, made a heap over a foot tall. I don't follow recipes and I already had a good idea what I wanted to do but I glanced at the lamb recipes in several volumes for new ideas. I didn't get any, so I proceded on my own.
A marinade, used to break down meat fibers and tenderize the meat, typically consists of an oil and an acid, at its most basic. I chose a good extra virgin olive oil and, for the acid, both lemon juice and yogurt. I added both garam masala and freshly ground pepper to the paste. I threw in a few more herbs to round it out but those were the important ones.
The lamb leg comes in an elastic net. I carefully removed it, thinking I could replace it later instead of tying the meat up with cotton cooking twine. I cut a number of inch long slits in the meat, which I jammed full of sliced garlic, then I spread the marinade on the inside of the leg. I then attempted to replace the netting I had so carefully preserved.
Disaster! The yogurt mix leaking from inside the leg made it too slippery to replace the netting. I made several attempts, the result of which was to spray or smear marinade all over my shirt, my face and the table. I broke out the twine and tied the leg up with it.
I smeared the fragrant white paste over the bottom of the roast, flipped it onto my roasting rack, then smeared the remaining goop over the top. I popped it into a 400° oven with the timer set for one hour.
The second part of the meal was to be a barlotto, the barley equivalent of a risoto, a labor-intensive way to fix a barley-rice mixture. I had a mix of brown and wild rices in the cupboard that I had been saving for this attempt. I fried the dry rices with a slightly greater quantity of pearl barley (in extra virgin olive oil, of course). When the barley turned opaque, I added just enough chicken broth to cover the grains. I piled in a handful of dried shiitake mushrooms just before adding the second helping of broth. The secret of a barlotto, according to a Molto Mario program I had watched over a month previously, was to top up the level of liquid every ten minutes, just barely covering the grain each time, adding only small amounts to keep from cooling the mix. After each addition, I would stir the mix to evenly distribute the heat. When the meat had about ten minutes to go, I would add a finely chopped medium onion.
That was the plan, anyway. I actually decided to go when the timer showed eleven minutes to completion. Unfortunately, there was a segment missing on the timer. I realized this when the time 'dropped' from eleven minutes to sixteen minutes. The top of the seven had been missing. I compensated by turning the heat off five minutes early, putting a lid on it when I powered down.
Cathy still wasn't home when everything was done, so I left the meat in the oven until she was there. I had wanted it rare but Delia liked it well done, so it didn't matter that much. Or it wouldn't have if the meat had actually cooked enough. As it was, the meat was uncooked in its heart. I snipped the strings, to allow the leg to relax and flatten out, then put it back for an additional twenty minutes. When I pulled it out, some was well done and some still had traces of pinkness.
The proof, of course, comes when you eat. Both Delia and Cathy repeated on both the meat and the barlotto. I thought the meat was as flavorful as any lamb I have ever eaten, the combination of yogurt and garam masala adding highlights to the flavor. There was meat left over ... but no barlotto.
For dessert we had pumpkin pie and gingerbread men.
