Sheep Thrills

I’ve been mired of late in a particularly trenchant existential crisis. Of course the EC in and of itself is nothing new to me; I spend approximately eighteen hours of every day drifting in and out of some form of one, but for any number of really sound reasons (end of winter, family health issues, aging, increasing impotence at my day job, mounting frustration at my fitness gig, lack of adequate running and yoga, inability to tell a freaking German Riesling from an Alsatian one, yadda, blah, et cetera) this EC has transformed from a quotidian crisis to a veritable miasma. Amorphous. Nebulous. Globby.

It tempts me to plop on the sofa, clutch the remote like a desperate clutching thing, and give myself over to the entropy of my expanding butt.

I know, however, that the only way to combat the second law of thermodynamics is with a good mental ass-kicking. Schlumping on the sofa never really makes me feel better, only productive activity will do that (one of the chief frustrations I have with my 9-to-5 gig is the lack of product: I organize, I coordinate, I attend, but I don’t really make anything). So, I knew it was time to take on a project:  to look for some thrills.

Are you fat-phobic? Then look away. Quickly. Direct that browser to iloveseitan.com, tempehrules.org, or absenceofflavor.net. Trust me: it will be better for all of us.

Did they leave? Good: now it’s just us lard-lovers. Praise the lard!

As you may recall, I still had a freezer full of lamb parts, and with the dual influences of ennui and Easter, I felt compelled to tackle another of those primals.

This time, I moved down (up?) the animal from the rib section, that produced the amazing lambchetta, to the loin section. This is the part of the lamb that gives us those cute mini T-bone chops, and just like on a cow, the larger bit of the T-bone is the loin and the smaller bit is the tenderloin. The section also includes the flank (which I think will be awesome for some lamb fajitas or gyros) and a mess of glorious fat that previously served the important function of protecting that little lamb’s kidneys.

The loin section, with glorious fat cap and flank attached.

The underside of the loin, with even more gorgeous fat.

I separated the section into all these gorgeous parts. Because I’m still not great at this butchery stuff, I ended up with a decent amount of scraps, which will make fabulous (and expensive) sausage. The fat I’ll render and use to confit something (because what won’t taste amazing slow-cooked in lamb fat, right?) and the bones I’ll use for stock.

Butchery done! L to R: fat, bones, scraps for sausage, flank, loin roast, tenderloin.

For Easter, we enjoyed the loin roast, marinated in some lovely Tempranillo and aromatics, seared and roasted, and served with a piquillo pepper pesto (piquillos, garlic, pinenuts, olive oil, S&P). I made an onion panade—essentially a solid form of French onion soup (full props to Michael Ruhlman’s Twenty), and some sautéed asparagus. We had a Tempranillo battle (a Rioja from Spain vs. a wine from the Alentejo in Portugal), but both wines performed well against the food, so we called it a delicious draw.

Our loin roast, resting.

 

And sliced.

 

Piquillo pesto and onion panade.

The activity, at least temporarily, distracted me from my miasma. Also distracting: singing along very loudly to the 80s Australian pop-rock quirksters Men at Work. I love the Celtic-infused guitar solo in this ditty. (Thanks to Chef Matt Jennings for reminding me of this delicious ear-worm of a song!)