Lemony Lamb Shoulder with Potatoes en Papillote

With Easter coming up, I thought I'd share one of my all-time favourite recipes for feeding a crowd, and a dish that appears in my cookbook. For over fifteen years this heavenly dish of slow-cooked, fragrant, fall-apart lamb has been my preferred choice for a feast. I used to serve it with rustling golden roast potatoes but, as it's very rich, these days I pack tiny spuds in baking paper well ahead of time, sling them in the oven and bring the packets to the table all puffed and golden and painted with cheering messages.

Photograph by Michael Le Grange. Image © Random House Struik 2012.

A large bone-in lamb shoulder will feed six hungry people, but not eight, so I suggest you order two smaller shoulders, which will leave you with plenty of leftovers. If you have a second oven, you can bake the potatoes at 180 °C; they will take 30-40 minutes.

Paint a message on each parcel using a fine paintbrush or calligraphy nib dipped in soy sauce. If you're not confident about your penmanship, print out the words in a font of your choice, then lay the baking paper on top and trace them with a soy-sauced nib.

What I love about this recipe - apart from its sticky-skinned succulence and unbeatable aroma - is that you can prepare it well in advance and leave it to do its sweet thing in the oven while you skip through the meadow gathering Easter eggs.

Lemony Lamb Shoulder with Potatoes en Papillote

2 large shoulders of lamb, bone in, or 2 legs of lamb
12 fat cloves garlic, peeled
½ tsp (2.5 ml) flaky sea salt
finely grated zest of 2 lemons
3 Tbsp (45 ml) good-quality dried oregano
2 Tbsp (30 ml) olive oil
2 large onions, peeled and sliced milled black pepper
1½ cups (375 ml) dry white wine, plus more for topping up
juice of 2 large lemons, plus more for topping up
2 bunches flat-leaf parsley, or rocket or watercress

For the potatoes:
2 kg tiny new potatoes
salt and milled black pepper
4 Tbsp (60 ml/60 g) butter
sprigs of fresh thyme
finely grated zest of 1 lemon
a little melted butter, for brushing

Heat the oven to 150 °C. Cut any large blobs of fat off the lamb. Finely grate six of the garlic cloves, place in a bowl and stir in the salt, lemon zest, 1 Tbsp (15 ml) of the oregano and the olive oil. Using a sharp knife, pierce the thick parts of the lamb (top and bottom) in 8-10 places, at a diagonal, to a depth of 3 cm. Push a little garlic paste deep into each cut and rub any remaining paste over the top of the joints.

Put the onion slices and remaining garlic cloves into a large roasting pan and place the lamb on top. Sprinkle with the remaining oregano and plenty of black pepper, pour in the wine and lemon juice and cover tightly with two layers of heavy foil. Place in the oven. After 3 hours, remove the foil, turn the heat down to 140 °C and switch off the oven fan. Season the lamb with salt, to taste.

Roast, basting now and then with the pan juices, for a further 1 hour, or until the lamb is brown and sticky and falling off the bone. Top up with more wine and lemon juice if necessary: the liquid in the pan should be about 1 cm deep.

For the potatoes, cut out eight circles of baking paper, each the size of a dinner plate. Prick the potatoes and divide them between the paper circles. Season with salt and pepper and add a knob of butter, a sprig of thyme, a sprinkling of lemon zest, and any other flavourings you fancy.

Fold each circle in half to make a semicircle and tightly seal the edges by making small, overlapping pleats all the way round. Brush the tops of the parcels with melted butter and place on a baking sheet. An hour before you’re ready to serve the lamb, place the parcels in the oven and bake for the remaining time or until quite tender.  Lay a bed of flat-leaf parsley on a large platter and place the lamb on top.

Cover with foil and allow to rest for 15 minutes. Pour the juices from the pan into a small jug and skim off the fat. Serve hot, with the potato parcels, and pass the pan juices round in a jug.

Serves 6 if you’re using one shoulder; 12 if you use two.

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How I styled my cookbook

My cookbook arrived in South African bookshops on Friday (a friend on Twitter tweeted a snap of a pile of books) and I'm quivering with excitement. This afternoon, I'm going to go to my local Exclusive Books so I can lurk - whistling nonchalantly, with hands in pockets - next to the display. I'm hoping to see a shopper pick up my book and browse through it, because I want to see how he or she reacts to to the photographs.

My Nougat & Ice Cream Cake with Hot Raspberry Sauce.
Image by Michael Le Grange © Random House Struik 2012

A great deal of thought went into producing simple, beautiful, mouth-watering images for the book, and in this blogpost I'll tell you how we tried to achieve this. (And you'll find more behind-the-scenes snaps from the shoot here.)

 Michael Le Grange's photograph of my Lemony Green Beans
with Aïoli. Click on the image to see a full-size version.
Image © Random HouseStruik 2012. Bowl by David Walters.

I've written before about why I opted for a professional photographer to tackle the images for the book. I knew the instant I saw Michael Le Grange's portfolio that his photographs of my food would be beautiful, but the prospect of creating a cohesive theme, mood and 'look' for my cookbook gave me some sleepless nights.

 I don't have much professional experience as a food stylist, but I was determined to do the job myself because it was the only way, I figured, that I could have complete creative control over the way my food was displayed on the page. 

What was crucial to me was that the dishes looked like my home-cooked food: in other words, what I'd put on the table in front of you if you came over to my house for lunch or dinner, or what you'd see if you were hanging over my shoulder as I cooked.

Something else that was important to me was absolute simplicity: in each photograph, the food itself had to be the hero. A clean, simple, pared-down look was essential if the food was to 'pop' from the page, fresh and colourful and glistening.

I wanted the food to 'pop' from the page.

Current trends in food photography favour what I call a 'sophisticated rustic' look - weathered wooden boards, worn cloths and cutlery, old or vintage props and much visual emphasis on the ingredients used to prepare the dish.

While this type of 'under-styling' is beautiful and inspiring when carefully done, I knew it wasn't right for my book.

I wouldn't bring a cracked dish or peeling board to my table, or scatter peppercorns or rocket leaves on the tablecloth, and I have a horror of serving dishes encrusted with baked-on dribbles.  (This caused much hilarity during the shoot. "But it looks real, Jane-Anne," cried the book's designer Bev, every time I got my knickers in a knot about a fleck of brown on the edge of a casserole dish, or a wrinkle in a napkin. "Don't make it look too perfect, or people won't want to try the recipe!")

Choosing props - and deciding what to leave out.
Napkin by Emma Wyngaard

My preference was to use the plainest plates and white linen throughout the book, but in the end Bev and Michael convinced me that a few rustic 'prep' shots featuring actual (dented and blackened) baking trays would not be the end of the world.

We also used several wooden surfaces for the photographs, which I reluctantly agreed to on the condition that they looked clean and scrubbed, with no peeling paint or encrusted cracks.

For plates and serving dishes, I turned immediately to my uncle David Walters, who is among South Africa's preeminent master potters.  In his studio in Franschhoek, Dave produces wheel-thrown porcelain, specialising in smoke-fired ceramics and fine dinnerware. In recent years, he's specialised in producing bespoke dinner services for local restaurants, which he designs in consultation with chefs. Dave cheerfully allowed me to raid his studio and gallery, and also offered to custom-make any ceramic item I needed for the shoot.  His exquisite porcelain plates, bowls and platters, with their fine detailing and delicate glazes, added a special elegance to the photographs, and I'm so honoured to have collaborated with him on this project.

For cutlery, I looted the silver canteens of my relatives and some friends. Much of the silverware in the book comes from Norway, because my Norwegian granny made it her habit to give her grandchildren one or two knives, forks or spoons for every birthday as they grew up.  Other pieces come from my great-grandmother, and the silver goblet in the soup chapter is a trophy my grandfather won in a hurdles race in the 1920s. It's been fun seeing my mum and sisters paging through the book and saying, 'Oh, I remember that spoon!' and 'There's granny's silver jug!

The Norwegian silver pattern I chose as a small girl.

All the linen and damask in the book comes from my collection, and my mother's, and some of the cloths were embroidered by my granny. For the occasional coloured napkin, cloth or place mat, I turned to my friend Margie, who has inherited a selection of fine Provençal linen from her mother-in-law.

Finally, some styling notes about the food itself.  I'm not a fan at all of 'doctoring' food for photographs. If food is photographed fresh, and uses top-quality ingredients, there really is no need to glycerine it, or stuff it with tissues, or resort to similar such subterfuge. (And it must be said that tales you hear about food being polished, varnished and coated with engine oil are largely wild exaggerations. I'm not saying this doesn't happen - food photographed for packaging shots and adverts often demands intensive care -  but most stylists like food to look fresh and natural, and will use tricks of the food-styling trade only when strictly necessary.

  In one photograph, I deployed a hat pin to attach a stubborn herb leaf, and in another I used super-glue to reattach a flower-head that had fallen off. Other than that, the only other tweaks were a light spritzing of water to some of the salads, and painting on more pan juices when the gloss had evaporated from meat dishes. The ice creams, shot in mid December, were a challenge, but split-second timing and buckets of ice prevented any camera disasters.

My grandfather's hurdling cup, and his son's bowls, with my 

Roasted Ratatouille Soup.

All the fresh herb garnishes came from my herb pots (I sowed handfuls of seeds six weeks before the shoot started, and once a week after that).  Tiny herbs wilt quickly in the heat, and look limp taken from supermarket packets, so it was a real bonus being able to pick them straight from the pot.

All in all, styling my own cookbook was an enormous  challenge, but one I thoroughly enjoyed. And if I'm dissatisfied with any one picture (there are a few I'd tweak if had to do it all again) I have no one but myself to blame.

Preparing a table shot for the photograph opening the Salads chapter.

Scrumptious: Food for Family and Friends is published by Random House Struik and is available at Exclusive Books.

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