Another sunny spring weekend has been and gone – this time with the added benefit of two days of holiday thanks to the escapades of a man in the Middle East some 2,000 years ago – and with it came the chance to get hold of a nice piece of lamb and eat it in the sunshine.
"Seriously? What's your problem, guy?" |
So, I hied my hide to the butcher and spent the princely sum (well, if the Prince in question was on a very tight budget, anyway) of £3 on a piece of lamb breast. I walked home, the lamb weighing heavily in a plastic bag swung casually from my wrist, the sun beating down on the top of my head.
“I’ll do a tagine,” I thought, the first few notes of a whistle escaping my lips “or a curry, something different, something that’s not a roast,” I assured myself, the spring in my step threatening at any moment to upgrade itself from ‘merry walk’ to ‘full blown skip’ – a step that isn’t lightly undertaken in South East Twenty, I can tell you. Around five hundred feet from home, however, my plans – well laid and meticulously thought out – did gang aglay. Someone, an inconsiderate and callous someone at that, had left their windows open, allowing the scents of their cooking to flow, unannounced and uninvited, in to the street. Complicit in this olfactory crime was the light spring breeze that lifted the smell of roasting meat, herbs, and gravy in to my unsuspecting nostrils. It was an assault, friends, although you will be surprised to learn, I am sure, that the Police didn’t take my complaint of “that git at number 63 put me right off making a curry” very seriously at all. Some might say there was a degree of sarcasm in the constable’s voice as he put the ‘phone down on me.
I sat in my lounge, staring at this piece of meat, it looking back at me with a sort of embarrassed expression (which was remarkable for something that didn’t have a face), until I could resist it no longer. Heady with the scents of rosemary and gravy and meat and mint and potatoes (from the git at number 63), I sprang to my feet and pointed accusingly at the meat in front of me.
“I am going to stuff you!” I cried. “I am going to ruddy well stuff you full of rosemary and garlic and then I am going to roast you until you’re all meaty and tender and juicy, and how do you like that, eh?”
The lamb remained silent, although my wife did mutter something and leave the room without looking backwards. She seems to be doing that a lot, lately.
Anyway, the lamb was suitably mollified, and I was happy that everything finally seemed to be going to well, so it was time to cook. And, after 500 words of my rambling, I would think that you’re ready for me to get going. So:
The Viking Roasts (Again!) – Stuffed Breast of Lamb with Minted Potatoes and Green Sauce
For this wonderful, springy offering, you’re going to need STUFF:
"Hey! HEY! Are you a leg or a BREAST man?" |
- A breast of lamb (a large one should feed about four people)
- Rosemary (3-4 sprigs)
- Garlic (5-6 cloves)
- Shallots (2-3, chopped)
- New Potatoes
- Breadcrumbs (you can buy these in pots, but I used about a quarter of a loaf of day-old French bread)
- Olive Oil
- Salt
- Pepper
- Nutmeg
- Mint
- Parsley
For the Green sauce, you’ll need:
- A handful of Parsely
- A handful of Basil
- A handful of mint
- 3-4 garlic cloves, grated
- 1 tsp Capers
- Olive Oil
- Pepper
Now, I am going to experiment with something I’ve never done before. Here is your method, numbered and everything, for your cooking ease:
1) Pre-heat oven to gas mark 4 (180c)
2) In a bowl, combine breadcrumbs, finely chopped (or grated) cloves of garlic, finely chopped rosemary, chopped parsley and chopped shallots.
3) Add olive oil bit by bit (remember, it’s easier to add a little at a time than it is to take it out), until the mixture is bound.
4) Season with a little salt and pepper.
5) Add half a teaspoon of nutmeg and mix again.
6) Place the lamb on to a cutting board, and spread the stuffing mix over it.
I got a little extra meat, so stuffed the meat with meat! |
7) Roll the lamb breast up, and use some butcher’s string to tie it together in three places.
8) Place in to a roasting tin with half a cup of water in the bottom of it, cover (with a lid or with foil) and roast for an hour and a half.
9) Uncover, and roast for another 30 minutes
10) Place potatoes and a good handful of roughly-chopped mint in to a pan of boiling water. Simmer for about 20 minutes, or until tender (if a fork presses easily in to the potato it’s cooked)
For the green sauce, which can be made beforehand or during the last half an hour, your method is as follows:
1) In a blender, add mint, parsley, basil, capers, garlic, and pepper
2) Blitz, and add olive oil a little at a time
3) The end result should be a little thicker than mint sauce, I also quite like it when the capers haven’t been completely broken down
Now, it’s time to plate up. Carve the breast in to nice, thick slices (you may need to use a knife with a serrated edge as this helps the meat and stuffing keep its shape).
Watch out for those tiny bones. You need to remove them before you start cooking... |
Serve next to minted potatoes, with a drizzle of green sauce and thin gravy made from the juices in the roasting tin. Eat, and to go with it I would recommend a slightly chilled bottle of Doombar, a most excellent ale that has particular fond memories for me as I drank about six too many of them the night before my wedding.
Potatoes can be improved by melting a little butter over the top... |
The great thing about this roast is that it is fairly light, so you don’t feel like you need to have a nap for the rest of the afternoon. And, with the weather the way it is, that means that you can fuel yourself up and get out there in to the sunshine. Make the most of it; the summer is all too brief!
I hope that, once again, you give this a go, and let me know how it works out for you. Last week, I got a picture of a Shooter’s Sandwich that someone made, and I am not ashamed to say that it made me quite proud. So, get cooking, tell your friends, and I will see you again next week, hopefully with a dish that isn’t another roast.
But I can’t promise anything! :)
Til then,
oh god i'm in love... can I move in? I know you have a wife and everything but I promise never to walk out of the kitchen muttering... only stare longingly at your amazing cooking!!! please? PLEASE??!?!?!... oh OK, i'll just have to bloody well roast a lamb of my own then... thanks a lot!
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