This has been an exceptionally Meaty Weekend so far for Meaty Boy.
Ribeye steaks grilled over charcoal and slathered with hot garlic butter? Oh, wait - that was last weekend.
Friday evening, we had our friends Laura Belle and Don over for a roast leg of lamb. I had been jonesing for lamb for some time*, and Laura Belle is one of the few people I know who is willing – nay, eager – to share it with me. For She Who Must Be Obeyed is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a consumer of Exotic Meats. Even the Dark Meat of the prosaic Chicken is outside her comfort zone, let alone a slice of something that bleated whilst alive. She and Don ate chicken breasts, while Laura Belle and I feasted...
The lamb was excellent. After trimming it thoroughly (the fat is what gives most lamb its gamy flavor) and brining it for two hours in kosher salt, sugar, and crushed raw garlic cloves, I rubbed it with a paste made from roasted garlic and chopped parsley. After a quick sear in a hot skillet atop Darth Stover, into a 400°F oven it went until the internal temp hit 130°F (I like my lambie on the rare side).
Damn, that was tasty...but there was still More Meat to Come.
Last night, we celebrated G’s birthday by going out to Wildfire, where both G and I ordered porterhouse steaks. Pittsburgh-style, if you please, medium rare. It’s the perfect steak for someone who can’t decide between a filet and a New York strip: it has both, plus a nice, flavorsome bone.
Excuse me while I scrape some cholesterol off my left ventricle.
Tonight? Leftover lamb, of course. Not ba-a-a-a-d, not ba-a-a-a-d at all!
*And no, you filthy-minded bastards - not because of the Lamby Abomination that showed up at Helen last week. Really. I think.
Ribeye steaks grilled over charcoal and slathered with hot garlic butter? Oh, wait - that was last weekend.
Friday evening, we had our friends Laura Belle and Don over for a roast leg of lamb. I had been jonesing for lamb for some time*, and Laura Belle is one of the few people I know who is willing – nay, eager – to share it with me. For She Who Must Be Obeyed is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a consumer of Exotic Meats. Even the Dark Meat of the prosaic Chicken is outside her comfort zone, let alone a slice of something that bleated whilst alive. She and Don ate chicken breasts, while Laura Belle and I feasted...
The lamb was excellent. After trimming it thoroughly (the fat is what gives most lamb its gamy flavor) and brining it for two hours in kosher salt, sugar, and crushed raw garlic cloves, I rubbed it with a paste made from roasted garlic and chopped parsley. After a quick sear in a hot skillet atop Darth Stover, into a 400°F oven it went until the internal temp hit 130°F (I like my lambie on the rare side).
Damn, that was tasty...but there was still More Meat to Come.
Last night, we celebrated G’s birthday by going out to Wildfire, where both G and I ordered porterhouse steaks. Pittsburgh-style, if you please, medium rare. It’s the perfect steak for someone who can’t decide between a filet and a New York strip: it has both, plus a nice, flavorsome bone.
Excuse me while I scrape some cholesterol off my left ventricle.
Tonight? Leftover lamb, of course. Not ba-a-a-a-d, not ba-a-a-a-d at all!
*And no, you filthy-minded bastards - not because of the Lamby Abomination that showed up at Helen last week. Really. I think.
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