in the streetlights, not a soul passes the front door. It is as if everyone is asleep. It takes something magical to make this stretch of road look as it does now, like a scene from a fairy tale. There is a leg of lamb in the fridge that I intended to roast as usual, with mint sauce and roast potatoes. With each windowpane edged in snow, I now want something more suited to a world white over. I put the leg into a deep cast-iron casserole with a rub of ground cumin, salt and thyme and let it bake slowly, occasionally basting its fat, as it turns a deep, glowing amber.
Slow-roast lamb with chickpea mash
a leg of lamb, about 2.3kg
For the spice rub:
garlic – 2 cloves
sea salt flakes – a tablespoon
a pinch of sweet paprika
cumin seeds – a tablespoon
thyme leaves – 2 tablespoons
olive oil – 2 tablespoons
butter – a thick slice
Set the oven at 160˚C/Gas 3. Make the spice rub: peel the garlic cloves, then lightly crush them with the salt, using a pestle and mortar. Mix in the sweet paprika, cumin seeds and thyme leaves. Gradually add the olive oil so that you end up with a thickish paste. Melt the butter in a small pan and stir it into the spice paste.
Put the lamb into a casserole or roasting tin and rub it all over with the spice paste, either with the back of a spoon or with your hands. Put it in the oven and leave for thirty-five minutes. Pour in 250ml of water and baste the lamb with the liquid, then continue roasting for three hours, basting the meat every hour with the juices that have collected in the bottom of the pan.
Remove the pan from the oven and pour off the top layer of oil, leaving the cloudy, herbal sediment in place. Cover the pan with a lid and set aside for ten minutes or so.
Carve the lamb, serving with the mashed chickpeas below, spooning the pan juices over both as you go.
Chickpea mash:
chickpeas – two 400g tins
a small onion
olive oil – 3–4 tablespoons
hot paprika
Drain the chickpeas and put them into a pan of lightly salted water. Bring to the boil, then turn down to a light simmer. You are doing this to warm the chickpeas rather than cook them any further. Peel and finely slice the onion, then let it soften with the olive oil in a pan over a moderate heat. This will seem like too much oil but bear with me. Let the onion colour a little, then stir in a pinch of hot paprika. Drain the chickpeas, then either mash them with a potato masher or, better I think, in a food processor. Mix in enough olive oil from the cooked onion to give a smooth and luxurious purée. Stir in the onion and serve with the roast lamb above.
Enough for 6.
February 22
Cold lamb, sliced thinly and tossed into a salad of tiny spinach leaves, Little Gem lettuce and baby red chard leaves. The whole thing looks pretty pedestrian until I add chopped fresh mint leaves to the olive oil and lemon dressing. Suddenly everything lights up. We eat it with bought focaccia and follow it with slices of commercial gingerbread spread with lemon curd.
February 23
and 24
Bones and
gravy for an
icy day
There is still snow but it has turned to slush, the odd bit of ice taking you by surprise on your way to the shops. In ten minutes I manage to pick up an oxtail for tomorrow from the butcher, a bottle of wine, a few carrots and some mushrooms and even stop to pay the newspaper bill, which somehow I have let run into three figures. I feel as if I am eating too much meat this month, but squishy snow and ice means just one thing to me: gravy. Rich and thick with onions, gravy to fork into mounds of mashed potato, gravy to soothe and heal, to warm and satisfy. Gravy as your best friend.
Braised oxtail with mustard and mash
This is not a liquid stew, but one where the lumps of meat and bone are coated in a sticky, glossy gravy. Piles of creamy mashed potato, made on the sloppy side with the addition of hot milk, are an essential part of this.
a large oxtail, cut into joints
a little flour for dusting
ground chilli – a teaspoon
dry mustard powder – a heaped teaspoon
butter – a thick slice
a little oil, fat or dripping
onions – 2 large
winter carrots – 2 large
celery – 2 stalks
garlic – 4 large cloves
mushrooms – 5 large
tomato purée – 2 teaspoons
bay leaves – 4
thyme – a few bushy sprigs
a bottle of ballsy red wine, such as a Rioja
grain mustard – a tablespoon
smooth Dijon mustard – a tablespoon
a little parsley
creamy mashed potato, to serve
Set the oven at 150°C/Gas 2. Put the oxtail in a plastic or zip-lock bag with the flour, ground chilli, dry mustard powder and a good grinding of black pepper. Seal it and shake it gently until the oxtail is covered.
Warm the butter and a little oil, fat or dripping in a heavy-based casserole. Lower in the pieces of oxtail and let them colour on each side, turning them as they take on a nice, tasty bronze colour. Whilst the meat is browning, peel the onions and carrots and roughly chop them, then cut the celery into similar-sized pieces. Lift out the meat and set aside, then put the vegetables in the pot and let them colour lightly. Peel the garlic, slice it thinly, then add it to the vegetables, along with the mushrooms, each cut into six or eight pieces. Squeeze in the tomato purée. Continue cooking until the mushrooms have softened and lost some of their bulk.
Return the oxtail and any escaped juices to the pan, tuck in the bay and thyme, then pour in the red wine. Bring briefly to the boil, season lightly with salt and cover with a tight lid. Transfer the dish to the oven. You can now leave the whole thing alone for a good two hours. I’m not sure you even need to give it a stir, though I inevitably do half way through cooking. After an hour, check the meat for tenderness. I don’t think it should be actually
