The Ovine Oculus

Today started well, I had not yet finished with breakfast by the time that noon came around. You may suspect that I’m a lazy git that doesn’t roll out of bed until the leisurely hours of the morn, and on some days you might even be right. That, however, is not the case today; I’m an avid believer that a long breakfast is the best breakfast, and this morning I’d chosen to observe this opinion with great candour. Having barrelled out of bed, 9 ante meridiem, I collected The Times, swiped two pastries and a hearty dollop of homemade raspberry jam from the pantry, and filled a cafetière for four, for myself, before stepping out onto the lawn. Oof, what a morning! Sunlight streamed through the yew tree canopy onto the small wrought iron table that sits in the cosy back corner of the garden. Idyllic. On the other side of the hedge a red heifer tried to make some small talk but The Times Magazine had stolen my attention with a feature titled “What the French cook in summer”. Inside, Pierre Koffmann, chef-patron of The Berkeley, London, provides recipes for half a dozen effortlessly delicious summer dishes that he enjoys at home with his family. These include a mouth-watering Leg of Lamb Provençale and a taste bud tickling salmon confit.

Unfortunately, today I won’t be cooking any of Pierre Koffmann’s treats – or anything at all as I will be eating out this evening – but I have been sufficiently baited to schedule a baked sea bass in salt, the article’s magnum opus, for later next week. So what am I to write about now? Well that’s easy, last week’s lamb crown of course. The lamb crown is arguably the best form our ovine friend can take. Not only does it resemble a colossal crown, making it a meal-defining centrepiece, but it’s also great fun to prepare, stuff and carve. Oh, yeah, it’s scrumptious too.

My meaty oculus. I see you!

My meaty oculus. I see you!

For those less familiar with dead animal in the shape of a royal headpiece, allow me to explain what the lamb crown actually is. The crown is a rack of lamb chops (the lamb’s ribs) that have been ‘frenched’ and is connected end-to-end producing the crown structure. A rack usually houses about 8 chops. Your butcher can french the rack for you, or, if you want to rob him of the fun, and I recommend that you do, find a quick online guide and wield your knives with care. I would detail the procedure but I didn’t realise that I would be posting about this when I did it, so sadly I have no photos. The jist of the method is that you want to remove roughly three inches of fat and flesh from the end of the rib opposite to the chop eye, across the entire rack. It’s most easily done using a boning knife but any small sharp knife should make short work of it. This should leave you with curved branches of exposed bone and a well-deserved sense of accomplishment. Tasty. Once frenched, connect the rack end-to-end and tie a single piece of twine around the circumference to hold it all together. If you want to supersize your meal, and feed many mouths (or a few big ones), you can connect multiple racks together.

Now, let’s lather up that crown. Paint the exterior with oil and then sprinkle some chopped herbs all over. I decided to plump for the archetypal lamb herbs: mint and rosemary. Season the entire piece with salt and pepper, and be generous about it.

Stuffed and ready to cook.

Thrill seeking? Look no further.

The oculus in the middle is begging to be rammed full of tasty treats, so oblige or be ashamed of yourself. I made my stuffing festive. I’m not sorry.

Ingredients:
1 small onion, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp cinnamon
1 large handful of almonds
100g dried apricots, quartered
50g dried cranberries
2 apples, chopped
1 large handful of fresh parsley, chopped

Preparation & Cooking:
1. Fry onion in some oil over low–med heat until they begin to soften, 5 minutes.
2. Add almonds and toast until they begin to brown slightly, 1 minute.
3. Add cumin, cinnamon, garlic and fruits, continue for 2 minutes.
4. Add parsley and season with salt and pepper, continue for a minute.

Pop the crown into a sufficiently sized roasting tray and decant the stuffing from the frying pan into that inviting orifice. Cheeky! Looking good? I hope so.

Stick a foil hat onto the top of each protruding chop bone and cover the top of the stuffing so that there is no burning. Whack it in the oven. Initially, I found it quite difficult to gauge how long the crown was going to need; various recipes will give you different timings. My naked crown weighed in at 3.5 pounds to which I added a rather dense stuffing. After 1 hour and 10 minutes (20 minutes per pound) in the top oven of our Aga, I dished up and fortuitously it was a perfect pink. The top oven of an Aga is about 240°C. An extra 10 – 15 minutes on top of this will take you to a medium done crown. If you want to cook it more than that, you really are wasting your rack of lamb, go away.

The finished article. Perfectly pink.

The finished article. Perfectly pink.

Once your crown has finished cooking, remove the foil, lift it from the tray – sliding a fish slice beneath so you don’t lose any stuffing – and dish up with the sides (don’t forget a red wine sauce) you’ve been busy preparing in the meantime. You now get to carve, one of the best bits. No fork required. Excusing your fingers, grab the tip of one of the chop bones and allow the carving knife to effortlessly fall through the yummy fat and flesh that connects that chop to the next, watching them peel away from either side of the knife was enough to make me weak in the knees. Work your way around the entire crown, serving each combatant as many chops as they think they can consume. A fatty crown will deprive you of some chop meat but you’ll find yourself rewarded handsomely with flavour.

For all the wonder and awe the crown inspired, it was the stuffing that was the real success story. While the toasted almonds added an extra crunch, the cranberries and apricots lit up the crown like little jewels and brought a sweet edge to the table. Two thumbs up from the parental unit.

I hope you find the time to have a go at this, the frenching of the rack too, as it’s oodles of fun and really not too much trouble if you have a free evening. Enjoy.

Introductions and first impressions…

Greetings, reader. You’ve stumbled across The Blog: The blog that I’ve been threatening to begin for at least six months. Well done, you! Is it a big deal? Yes, yes it is. During the last decade, I’ve dodged my fair share of social media bullets whilst taking others square on the chest but I’ve always been perplexed as to why people take it so seriously, blogging included. Feeling somewhat less profoundly individual, I now find myself at the base of the blogcraft precipice and it looks as though the beginning of my first post is set to lay out my disdain for blogs, bloggers and the act of blogging, how bloody novel! What is it that compels us to write these lengthy posts – largely to people we don’t and will never know – on what are usually trifling matters? Is it an innate desire to have our opinions heard by the masses and that the internet has become a suitable stage on which we can all perform like circus clowns? Perhaps. Then there are those that seek to make their fortunes through blogging, the ‘self-hosters’ – those confident enough in themselves to pay the subscription fees associated with owning their domain. If they’re successful then kudos where kudos is due, but the sad fact is that the vast majority fall incredibly short and their dreams of a blog founded business evaporate as quickly as they were realised. For those that manage to sculpt their circus stage into a podium for blogging excellence, great fortune and the opportunity to throw away a conventional career await, and frankly, I’m terribly envious.

Does all of this make me an annoying, flaccid contrarian? Almost certainly, but I wanted to get the word flaccid in as soon as possible. In an act of entirely (un)forgivable hypocrisy, I seem to have seamlessly joined the legion of twits that reside in coffee shops hoping to pave the internet with try-hard profanity and attention seeking photography, and I couldn’t bear less shame if I tried. Anyway, please do read on, lest I never find my foothold in Blogdom.

I guess the reader – that’s you, chief – might like to know what my mission statement is and why I am in fact blogging when I could be criticising bloggers with my fellow misanthropists. The answer is simple, food; delicious, dribble inducing banquets; sapid, saliva inspiring feasts. You know of what I speak, those plates of consumables that make your salivary glands feel like Christmas has come early. Despite my envy of those that manage to monetise their blogging efforts, my aim is not to cash in; I’m dumping my culinary efforts into the .com æther in order to… Actually, I haven’t a clue why, but I am.

Over the last couple of years, at university – Master of Physics, if you really wanted to know – I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know a couple food savants. I won’t name them, their egos don’t require stoking, but by sitting back and watching this dynamic duo bicker in the kitchen I have learnt to be at least marginally irritable when cooking around others. I think I can now legitimately call myself a novice cook too. Two years of decidedly delicious company have now passed, graduation – which, for the record, really isn’t worth the hype it gets – is upon me and an abundance of time now lies ahead, until I have to do the whole ‘working for a living’ thing of course. So with fantasy of promoting myself beyond novice status, I head to the kitchen with laptop in tow.

It will soon become apparent that I spend a gloriously large fraction of my time orbiting meaty farmhouse grub, rarely gaining escape velocity to challenge anything that isn’t fleshcentric. “Salad?!” I hear the vegetarians, vegans and the other culinarily awkward cry. Rennet all over it. Thanks, Parmesan. It’s not that I mean to cause offense, but rather that I would like to build some realistic expectations of The Blog; there might be the odd meat free pasta dish, pudding or cocktail floating around but, in general, this is a meaty production.

My good friend Sabatier making short work of dear Buttercup. A delicious beef fillet for five.

My good friend Sabatier making short work of dear Buttercup. A delicious beef fillet for five.

My posts shall consist of what I eat, what makes me ‘mmmm’ and any other related musings I dare to have. If something is judged by the eaters to be particularly delicious, then recipes will be detailed. I will endeavour to make a post per day. Now, in the name of not dawdling like a two-wheeled Reliant Robin, let’s get on with it. Butter me up and call me a skillet, this is the porcine publication: The Porky Pantry