Out Like a Lamb.



The end of March is nigh, and thus is Easter. Passover is happening right now. It's a big time for a lot of people. And plants. Plants are having a blast right now. And people are having a blast with plants. Or, at least, Fred and I are.

When we last spoke, I had mentioned having chatted around to get a feel as to what food things meant to people with regard to Easter. I ended up settling on chocolate and lamb, though not necessarily together – which might not be a bad idea, come to think of it. So I shared a chocolate recipe.

So you probably know where we will be going with this. Lambville.

Coming from completely non-religious parents, other than the Easter Bunny covertly surprising me with an Easter basket each year at my mom's house, Easter meant little else. I don't even recall a special meal. So after sifting through people's responses to my query about what Easter represented, culinarily, to them, I went about figuring out what it meant to me. And I decided to embark on the most traditional Easter supper I have ever had. First order on the agenda: order a giant leg of lamb.


I like lamb just fine, now, but as a child it unnerved me a little. I think it was just the gamey-ness of the meat. It wasn't on the dinner table too often at home, but I know Dad loved it. He always ordered it at the Greek restaurant in our neighborhood. He loved their Lamb Guvetsi.

As I mentioned, years ago, like 2005, I heard Nigella Lawson interviewedon NPR around this time of year. She was promoting her then new book, Feast, a cookbook devoted primarily to celebrations, holidays and entertaining. I vividly recall her discussing her favorite Easter meal, and the great detail with which she described a saffron roasted leg of lamb and some sticky, crispy garlic potatoes. Obviously it stuck with me if eight years later that was the first thing to pop into my head when I decided to make my first, big Easter dinner. So I started planning the menu, the flowers, the dining room look, and called some friends.

Easter dinner was so happening.

Two days before the event I put the lamb in its marinade and refrigerated it. The day before, while Fred went out to get all of our groceries, flowers and the like, I poked around on the computer to find out why lamb in the Spring, and why lamb on Easter. Why throughout the entire world the most popular Easter symbol is the lamb. I'm sure, as usual in this department, everyone else already knows this stuff, but I'm new here.

The roast lamb dinner that many eat on Easter Sunday goes back earlier than Easter to the first Passover of the Jewish people. The sacrificial lamb was roasted and eaten, together with unleavened bread and bitter herbs (a Seder) in hopes that the angel of God would pass over their homes and bring no harm. As Hebrews converted to Christianity, they naturally brought along their traditions with them. The Christians often refer to Jesus as The Lamb of God. Thus, the traditions merged.

In the 7th century the Benedictine monks wrote a prayer for the blessing of lambs.
A few hundred years later the pope adopted it and a whole roasted lamb became the feature of the Pope's Easter Dinner, and has been ever since.

I wasn't going to roast a whole lamb, of course. Just one of its legs.


Now this lamb recipe involved saffron, which I absolutely love. I know a lot of people do not, however. It seems to be one of those ingredients like cilantro: people either love it or hate it. And I understand. Also, like cilantro, it has an unmistakable, very distinct aroma and taste. The thin, delicate, muted red hair-like strands are fragrant, floral, earthy, and honey-like with a bit of bitterness. Saffron also happens to be the most expensive spice in the world. Use too much and that will be the only thing you take away from that dish. With saffron, the words 'a little goes a long way' have never been more accurate. A little dab will do ya.

It's no surprise that you will find a wealth of recipes with saffron and lamb together. Kind of like chocolate and peanut butter, they just make sense. They are also both prominent elements in a lot of Middle-Eastern cuisine. Actually, it's funny, lamb takes me back to eating Greek food with my dad, and I used Greek saffron with my Easter lamb.


Yesterday, on the event of my Easter dinner celebration, once the lamb went into the oven after two days of marinating, I went about the décor of the dining room. I hand-picked each and every piece of silverware, plate and glass, dug through the linens to find the right napkins – I went for the fancies – and began meticulously arranging the bundles of daffodils and hyancinths into little vintage creamers and jelly jars while listening to my go-to soothing sounds: Explosions in the Sky. All the while the house was filling up with the entrancing smell of lamb, lemon and garlic fusing together in the oven. I dare say it was beginning to smell like Easter. Or, at least, really, really good. The air smelled like family and friends and the promise of festivity and future fond memories.

Everything was coming together perfectly. The food was on schedule, the room looked great, I had the perfect wines; some lovely rosés from a tasting the day before, and just moments before the guests arrived, as I was lighting the candles, Fred and I got our Easter baskets in the mail! I guess the Easter Bunny is trying to help out the US Post Office in their time of need... Nevertheless, that took care of dessert; Cadbury Creme Eggs!

As we all sat down to the table, we raised our glasses of rosé and toasted to a happy Easter. And as I looked around the room, I took stock. The smiling faces of my friends, the table looked beauteous, the food was delicious, the wine went perfectly with the saffrony lamb, the flowers smelled wonderful, and best of all we were all so happy to be with each other. Good friends, together, on our Easter, eating, drinking, smiling, talking, sharing Easter memories and laughter.

SAFFRON ROAST LAMB WITH STICKY GARLIC POTATOES
(recipe adapted from Nigella Lawson's book, Feast)

Serves 6
1 leg of lamb (4.5 lbs)
1/3 cup olive oil
3 cloves garlic, bruised
6 scallions
2 bay leaves
juice of 1 lemon
small bunch mint, 1 1/2 oz including stalks, torn roughly makes 1 cup
1/2 teaspoon saffron threads, steeped in 1 cup very hot water
1/3 cup rosé wine

 Put the lamb in a large freezer bag, pour over the olive oil and then throw in the garlic, trimmed scallions and bay leaves, squeeze in the lemon juice and throw in the squeezed-out lemon halves too, then add the torn-up bunch of mint. Seal the bag and marinate in the fridge overnight.
Bring the lamb to room temperature before you even think of putting it in the oven, and preheat that to 425 degrees F when you take the lamb out of the fridge.
Pour the entire contents of the freezer bag into a roasting pan and roast for about 20 minutes a pound, or until the lamb is cooked a perfect, à point pink; you will just have to pierce it with the knife to see. Just before the lamb is due to come out of the oven, put the saffron strands in a measuring cup and pour over the hot water so that it can get on with steeping.
Remove the lamb to a wooden carving board to rest. Pick out the lemon rinds, and then place the roasting pan on the stove over medium heat, and stir until it starts bubbling. Stir in the saffron in its water and add 1/3 cup rosé – tasting for seasoning as you go – as needed to let this bubble into a small amount of ungloopy gravy. 
Carve the lamb on to a large warmed plate and strain the saffrony juices, stirring in any liquid first from the carving board, over the pink meat.
Read the sticky garlic potato recipe now so that you can coordinate your movements. And, to go with, I'd want no more than a bowl of green peas, turned in some butter.

STICKY GARLIC POTATOES
Serves 6
1 1/2 lbs small fingerling potatoes
8 cloves garlic (more if you like)
1/2 cup olive or other vegetable oil 
Coarse salt & freshly cracked pepper to taste.

Bring a saucepan of water to the boil and add some salt, add the potatoes and cook for 30 minutes. Drain, and put back into the dry pan.


Peel the garlic cloves by squishing with the flat of a knife so that they bruise slightly and the skin slips off. Put them in the dry pan with the potatoes, and then bash potatoes and garlic  so they are cracked and split. You can do this ahead and leave them in the pan – though with the lid off, so that they don’t get watery – until you want to roast them.
Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F and slip a roasting pan in to heat up at the same time. Once the oven’s hot, pour in the oil and let it, in turn, heat up for 10 minutes.
Carefully tip the potatoes and garlic into the hot oil and cook for 15 minutes. Turn the potatoes over and then give them another 15 minutes. 
Salt & pepper to taste.
Serve on a platter with the lamb.



In Like a Lion...


Today is the first day of Spring. I love Spring. Who doesn't? What's not to love about Spring? But, in all honesty, if you stuck an ice pick at my temple and forced me to pick my favorite season, I'd have to come clean and say that Spring is not my absolute favorite season of all the glorious seasons. But I do love it.

What I love most about Spring, other than the extraordinary, floral scent in the air, the flowers blooming and making the landscape a rainbow of beautiful colors, the longer days, being able to show off a little skin again, the new produce at the market, getting back into the garden, rosé, getting back into the grilling, Fred's ice cream, or even the Lillet, is the promise of New. The promise of change, growth, new life, new chances, do-overs, new opportunities, and, I must confess, Lillet. I kid. Sort of.

Every Spring, I see those little blossoms bursting forth with new life, to become big, bold beautiful flowers, with gusto as though it's never been done before nor will ever be done again. And, realistically, for that flower, it has not and it will not. That naivete, that wholesome, honest, holistic and true naivete is what I love about Spring. The world is my oyster! Again!

And this Spring, I feel, holds extra promise. Some change is afoot. Something is brewing, but I'm not quite ready to spill the beans, yet. Soon... soon.


The onset of Spring also means Easter. Now, as I've mentioned before, Easter for me has never been about religion. Up until two or three years ago, all I knew was that it was when little baby Jesus came back to life. Then a friend illuminated me for the better part of Easter Sunday, over Bloody Marys and peel and eat shrimp, about the whole elaborate, biblical deal. Which I don't really recall. So many details. And, around Easter, I also think of Passover; my favorite Jewish holiday. 

As a small child, I recall Easter meaning waking up that Sunday morning and going through a very minor search of clues to discover my Easter basket. I just got in touch with my mom to find out if that was the case, to which she replied, “The Easter Bunny left the basket out for you. HE used to put the basket in unusual places. Are you implying I had something to do with it?” 

So there's that. 

Try as I may, I can only vividly remember one basket. It was filled with pastel-colored, plastic eggs stuffed with jelly beans, foil-covered, hollow chocolate bunnies, little plastic toys, Cadbury Cream Eggs (my favorite, favorite, favorite), all tucked into giant tufts of that neon green plastic grass inside of a stripey wicker basket with a handle.

If you think about it, the whole Easter basket thing is really cool. I think I want one this Easter. You hear that, Bunny?!



As an adult (with zero religious affiliations), Easter doesn't mean whole lot. It's on a Sunday, and that usually means brunch and a crossword. That's always special. But I was curious about what others, like me, think about in regards to Easter. In the food realm, of course.

I heard a lot about Peeps. A lot of folks were also all about the chocolate. Some jelly beans. One person said rosé (good on ya). And a lot of ham. I say Cadbury Cream Eggs. But then I remembered a radio interview with Nigella Lawson I heard years and years ago. You know what she said? Lamb. I like that. And come to think of it, though, it doesn't seem like it would make mountains of sense since I don't entertain on Easter, or go places where one is entertaining me, I get it. Somehow, I get the whole lamb thing.

So to sum it up, I'd say Easter makes me think of chocolate things and lamb things. It's funny, I have never been a chocoholic. I did not grow up with dessert as an option, and I never order dessert when I dine out. I have never had the sweet tooth. More of a potato chip tooth, I'd say. But for the past six months, I have really been enjoying a small, sweet treat a couple hours after dinner.

Whether it's a chunk of chocolate, a cookie, a couple of bites of pie or cake, a salted caramel (or twelve), I have relished that after dinner sweetness. And unlike the potato chip, I have absolutely no problem in the discretionary portion department.


This means there has been a sudden boost in the baking department of my kitchen. Come to think of it, the very last post was all about chocolatey cupcakes. It was my first chocolate. Dessert. Chocolate. Baking. See?

Maybe this Spring there will be a burst of baking in my kitchen. Maybe I'll finally master Bread. I know I've said that one before, but I can say it again, because it's Spring. And anything is possible. Do-overs, start overs, start agains, go forward, go back; it's all new.

And until I'm ready to let my cat out of its bag of intrigue of all things new brewing in this camp, I will leave you with this impossibly decadent, delicious, rich, sweet and salty, caramel-y, chocolate bomb of a dessert. Make it for yourself. Make it and give it to friends. Make it for Easter. Make it for Spring. After all, this is the time. The world is your oyster. Your salted-caramel-cocoa-brownie oyster.




Salted Caramel Cocoa Brownies with Walnuts
(recipe adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

Makes 16 brownies

Caramel

1/2 cup granulated sugar

4 tablespoons unsalted butter (or salted, but then ease up on the sea salt)

Heaped 1/4 teaspoon flaky sea salt (or 1/8 teaspoon table salt, more to taste)

3 tablespoons heavy cream

Brownies
Nonstick vegetable oil spray
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1 inch pieces
1 1/4 cups sugar
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup walnut pieces (optional)

Make caramel:

Set a square of parchment paper over a medium-sized plate. Lightly butter or coat the parchment with a spray oil, just as an added security measure.

In a medium, dry saucepan over medium-high heat, melt your sugar; this will take about 5 minutes, stirring if necessary to break up large chunks. By the time it is all melted, if should be a nice copper color; if not, cook until it is.

Remove from heat and stir in butter. It may not incorporate entirely but do your best. Stir in cream and salt and return saucepan to the stove over medium-high heat, bringing it back to a simmer and melted again any sugar that solidified. Cook bubbling caramel for a few minutes more, until it is a shade darker.

Pour out onto parchment-covered plate and transfer plate to your freezer. Freeze until solidified, which can take anywhere from 20 to 30 minutes.


Meanwhile, or when your caramel is almost firm, make your brownies:

Preheat oven to 325°.

Line an 8x8x2 inches glass baking dish with foil, pressing firmly into pan and leaving a 2 inches overhang. Coat foil with nonstick spray; set baking dish aside.

Melt butter in a small sauce-pan over medium heat. Let cool slightly.

Whisk sugar, cocoa, and salt in a medium bowl to combine. Pour butter in a steady stream into dry ingredients, whisking constantly to blend.

Whisk in vanilla. Add eggs one at a time, beating vigorously to blend after each addition. Add flour and stir until just combined (do not overmix). Stir in walnuts. 


Assemble brownies: When caramel is firm, remove it from the freezer and chop it into rough 1-inch squares. Gently fold all but a small amount of caramel bits into batter. Scrape batter into prepared pan, spreading until mostly even. Scatter remaining caramel bits on top. 

Bake until top begins to crack and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out with a few moist crumbs attached; about 30 minutes.

Transfer pan to a wire rack; let cool completely in pan. Using foil overhang, lift brownie out of pan; transfer to a cutting board. Cut into 16 squares.



A Picnic in Bed


Last weekend Fred and I camped out at home. We planned our 'getaway' carefully, and made sure we had a plentitude of rations (of every imaginable sort) to ensure there would be absolutely no reason to get into a car at any point between day's end on Friday and first light on Monday. And, I dare say, mission accomplished with flying, colorful colors.

After our camping expedition in the living room the night before, we took Saturday to sleep in. Even the pups stayed in bed with us and snuggled, as opposed to Beso waking up at the crack of dawn to commence his ritual of whimpering and squiggling until I get up to feed him. Eventually, though, the pups had to be fed. So Fred lingered in bed while I took care of them, made coffee and poked around in the kitchen to see what I wanted to rustle up for breakfast. 

Breakfast turned into brunch as I looked up from the stove, where I was making heart-shaped eggs in a basket, and saw that it was almost noon. Then, the breakfast that turned into brunch, turned into brunch in bed; coffee, orange juice, sausages, eggs in a basket, and a crossword. On a tray. In bed. At Noon. 

That's when I got an idea, or as I like to call them, brainflowers.

I was so excited that I zipped right back into the kitchen. I dug up cocoa powder, walnuts and blood oranges and I was going to make cake, or cupcakes, or something. Something cute and sweet. I called Mom, rifled through cookbooks and searched online for ideas on how to incorporate the ingredients. I found little. It seems when that happens, the best go to is cupcakes. So I got to it.

A couple of things: A) I don't bake much, and when I flop in the kitchen, it's usually baking-related. B) I have never made chocolate anything.

I am a big fan of blood oranges. When they appear for a few short weeks in the middle of winter, I jump at the opportunity to make just about everything I possibly can with them. But I had yet to make them into cupcakes. I figured it was about damn time. And because I’ve found that little is quite as satisfying as a chocolate cupcake, the chocolate blood orange cupcake was born. With olive oil and walnuts. And for more fun, Fred made candied blood orange peel to top the cupcakes off!

The cupcakes were kind of amazing. I was very proud. They were so incredibly moist. They were heavy in weight, but tremendously light and fluffy on the palate. The sunset hued buttercream and the chocolate cake spiked with orange zest were a perfect match. Like they were made for each other. Success!

Why did I do all of this? What propelled this chocolatey, baking brainflower? Because, I figured, if the night before we could camp out in the living room and make clam chowder over the open fire, then this afternoon we could have a tea party picnic in bed!

And so we did. But we were going to need those cupcakes...




Chocolate, Olive Oil, Blood Orange Cupcakes with Walnuts
(recipe adapted from Love & Olive Oil)

Makes 12 cupcakes

Ingredients:
1 cup coconut milk
1/3 cup pure olive oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon blood orange zest, finely grated
1/2 cup walnut pieces
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon almond meal
1/3 cup cocoa powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
For Frosting:
1/2 cup butter or margarine, room temperature
2-3 cups confectioners' sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons blood orange juice
1 teaspoon blood orange zest, finely grated
1-2 tablespoons soy creamer or heavy cream (as needed)


Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line muffin pan with paper liners.
Whisk together the coconut milk, sugar, oil, vanilla extract, and zest until incorporated. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, almond meal, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the center of dry ingredients and pour in coconut milk mixture. Add walnuts and stir until just smooth (do not overmix). 
Pour into liners, filling each with 3 tablespoons of batter (cups should be no more than 2/3 full). Bake 18-20 minutes (or 10-12 for minis), or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool completely.
For frosting, cream butter until smooth and fluffy, 2-3 minutes. Add 1 cup powdered sugar and beat until combined. Mix in orange juice, zest, and vanilla. Continue adding sugar, 1/2 cup at a time, mixing well after each addition (depending on the temperature of your butter, you may need more or less sugar or added cream to achieve the proper consistency). Continue beating until light and fluffy, about 3-5 minutes. Spread or pipe onto cooled cupcakes.

Top with a little curl of candied orange peel - basic recipe here.




Building a Fort


There has been a lot of stuff going on in the world of Fred and me. We are great, don't you worry. But the world around us has been a bit, shall we say, dicey. We have both been moving very fast, doing a lot of things, a lot of busy. Yet we have been ships in the night, hardly had a moment to really spend quality time with one another. In our house, the books and magazines have been piling up to resemble colorful totem poles, the garden is more like a graveyard, and as of last Friday, you could hear an echo in our refrigerator.

And so we decided to STOP. We decided to spend our weekend together, focused on the things we love to do together and the things we love about each other. We decided we were going to shut off the world, and concentrate on what home means to us. We decided to have vacation. Go camping. At home.

On Friday, while Fred was at work, I took off and stocked up on all of the provisions. Groceries, firewood, dog bones, you know, the usual stuff. Once I got home and put all of the groceries away (one of my very favorite things to do), I did laundry, so all of our cozies were clean and warm, cleaned the house and set some of our favorite old movies to record (and a Lakers game for Sunday). I then called Fred and told him we were ready: the house was clean and sparkly, and the kitchen stocked. Let the staycation commence.

Once Fred got home, we both changed into our cozies, put on some Otis Redding and poked and prodded about our stocked-for-the-apocalypse kitchen for a guiding light. Parsnips, savory, carrots, burrata, walnuts, blood oranges, Littleneck clams, duck breasts, Anson Mills grits, rapini, hominy, salted capers, bacon, okra(!), leeks, pasilla pepper, Pacific cod, a whole chicken, potatoes, fresh cream, and more – I was paralyzed with options. So I turned to Fred and asked him to just pick a protein, and I would run with it from there. Clams.

I can do that.

While in Inverness recently, we stopped at a little spot on Tomales Bay and had a bowl of clam chowder. It inspired me, which is why I had purchased the clams in the first place. I liked this direction. And as Fred built a fire in the fireplace, my plan evolved even more. On that brisk, drizzly evening, while in our cozies, we decided to cook the soup on the open fire. We were camping, after all.

And so we brought all of our provisions, our mise en place, into the living room, dimmed the lights and lit candles. And as Otis crooned in our ears, and the fire warmed our faces, and the dogs curled up close to us with their bones, I got started steaming the clams while Fred chopped potatoes, celery, onions and garlic on the cutting board by the hearth.

Though, admittedly, it was a challenge for the OCD part of me to relinquish control of the mess that was inevitable for this indoor camping night to be successful, it was so, so beautiful. So warm and intimate, so still. As we slurped our steamy chowder and messily brought dunked, torn chunks of baguette, dripping with creamy stew and pieces of potato and clam up to our faces, we hardly said a word. Instead we stared around the room, at the pups, at the fire, at each other, and smiled and giggled.

When we were full of clam chowder and bread, we left everything as it was. As the fire continued to flicker, and the music played on, we stayed and languished on the floor and did the crossword until the light was completely gone, but our smiles remained.

Sometimes it's important to close the door to the rest of the world and take stock on what's really important; love, warmth, smiles, giggles, and home – wherever you make it.


Classic New England Clam Chowder

Serves 6-8

Ingredients

4 pounds cherrystone clams, scrubbed
1/2 cup vermouth
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
4 ounces bacon, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 celery stalk, diced
1 large onion, diced
1 garlic clove, minced
1 Yukon Gold potato, peeled, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1/2 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 cup heavy cream
Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper
Chopped fresh chives
Oyster crackers or Fresh Baguette

Directions

Bring clams, vermouth and 2 cups water to a boil in a large pot over high heat. Cook until clams just open, 8-10 minutes (discard any that do not open). Using a large slotted spoon, transfer clams to a large rimmed baking sheet; set broth aside. Let clams cool slightly, then pull meat from shells; discard shells.

Chop clams into bite-size pieces. Strain broth through a fine-mesh sieve set over a large bowl. Add water if needed to measure 4 cups. 

DO AHEAD Clams and broth can be made 1 day ahead. Cover separately and chill.

Melt butter in a large heavy pot over medium heat. Add bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until fat is rendered and bacon begins to brown, about 8 minutes. Add celery, onion, and garlic and cook, stirring often, until onion is translucent, about 10 minutes. 

Add reserved broth (or 6 cups bottled clam juice), potatoes, thyme, and bay leaf. Bring chowder base to a simmer; cook until potatoes are tender, 20-25 minutes. 

Stir cornstarch and 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl to form a slurry. Stir slurry into chowder base; return to a boil to thicken. 

DO AHEAD Base can be made 1 day ahead. Let cool; cover and chill. Keep clams chilled. Bring base to a simmer before continuing.

Remove base from heat. Discard bay leaf. Stir in reserved clams and cream. Season with salt, if needed (clams' brininess varies), and pepper.

Divide chowder among bowls. Garnish with chives, and serve with bread or crackers.