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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Freddy's Smashed Green Olives Marinated with Garlic and Coriander

This is a famous recipe in my family, because my brother-in-law Freddy, who is of Cypriot descent, makes it every time our tribe gathers for a feast.  It's an absolute zinger of a snack: big shining green olives drenched in garlicky, lemony olive oil, with plenty of coarsely crushed coriander seed. The warm, citrussy coriander notes are heavenly with green olives, while the lemon juice adds an irresistible acidity. This dish, elies tsakistes (literally, crushed olives) is popular all over Cyprus, and I am pretty sure Freddy learned the recipe at the elbow of his late mother Amaranth Sitas, who wrote an excellent book about Cypriot cooking (Kopiaste,  K P Kyriakou Books, Cyprus, 1989).

I snapped this on Christmas Day, just before the hungry hordes
 polished off the lot. 

I know how to make this, but mine never taste quite as good as Freddy's, so on Christmas Day I pinned him down and made him write out the recipe. You can use any sort of green olive here; Freddy uses a combination of what are called 'buffet' olives in South Africa - the smaller olives in the picture on the left - and big juicy queen olives. This can be made with pitted olives, but it isn't as nice as using whole ones (and, besides, half the fun of eating olives is seeing how far you can spit the pips).

Serve this with a loaf or two of warm bread for soaking up the olive oil.  If there is any marinade left over, cover it and use it the next day to douse some new olives, adding a little extra fresh garlic and lemon juice. These keep for a long time in the fridge: if you're going to chill them, decant them into lidded jars, but take them out of the fridge a few hours before you serve them so any congealed oil has a chance to come up to room temperature.

Don't skimp on the coriander seed - it's essential for an authentic taste.

I know Freddy will frown on me for saying this, but a handful of dried chilli flakes - or a sliced fresh chilli - is a fine variation on this theme.

This is a great choice of snack if you're on a low-carb regime.

If you like this recipe, do try my version of Freddy's baked aubergines with garlic yoghurt.

Freddy's Smashed Marinated Green Olives

2 packets small green 'buffet' olives, drained (about 2 cups/500 ml after draining)
2 packets queen olives, drained of brine (about 2 cups/500 ml after draining)
5 big cloves of garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
4 Tbsp (60 ml) whole coriander seeds
2 large, juicy lemons
1 cup (250 ml) extra-virgin olive oil
salt and pepper, to taste

Tip all the olives onto a board. Using a small, sharp knife, cut a slit in the side of each one. Now gently bash each olive, using a rolling pin or the blade of a heavy knife, just firmly enough to crack it open.  Tip the olives into a bowl. Using a mortar and pestle, coarsely crush the coriander seeds and add them to the olives along with the chopped garlic. Squeeze the lemons over the olives and mix well.  Cover the bowl with clingfilm and set aside to steep for six hours or longer (but a minimum of three).

Tip the olives into one or two pretty serving dishes and pour over the olive oil.  Add salt and pepper, to taste (although Freddy never does).

Serve with warm bread.

Serves 8-10, as a snack with drinks. 


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Bertie's Lemon Curd and Mascarpone Meringues, with Raspberries

Velvety, buttercup-yellow lemon curd and mascarpone make a meringue filling so rich and decadent that only a greedy, fat boy like Bertie would eat more than one.

This is Bertie. I chose him to illustrate a point in a presentation I gave at last week's South African Food and Wine Bloggers' Indaba.

Not satisfied to appear on just one Power Point slide, he insinuated himself into a whole lot more, while making impertinent comments about my speech. I was quite surprised by how much hilarity Bertie caused at the conference, and so I've decided to dedicate this recipe to him. (Bertie comes, by the way, from this photo archive; I've been unable to find an email address for the owner of the album so I can thank him).

These meringue nests are not made by me. I have a disastrous history with regular meringues, let alone beautiful little pure-white cups like the one in the picture. I buy them, plus pavlova cases and baby meringues, from my local Spar.

This filling, though lemony-sharp, is scandalously rich and unctuous. If you'd like a (slightly) lighter result, use whipped cream, or even thick Greek yoghurt. (What's that? Oh, Bertie says, 'No use yoghurt.' Shush, Bertie.)  If you don't fancy meringues, use this mixture to make a layered loaf  'cake' using vanilla wafers, and place it in the freezer for an hour or so before slicing.

I used frozen raspberries (which I love) to cut the sweetness of the filling and meringue, but this would also be good topped with Cape gooseberries, or some flaked, toasted almonds.

It helps to have a sugar thermometer when you are making lemon curd, but it's not essential.

The easy lemon curd recipe below is adapted from Preserved by Nick Sandler and Johnny Acton, my favourite book on the subject of jams, pickles and other preserved food.

Bertie's Lemon Curd and Mascarpone Meringues, with Raspberries

For the lemon curd:
2 large lemons, washed
2 large eggs
200 ml caster sugar
1 T (15 ml) cornflour [cornstarch]
140 g (140 ml) unsalted butter

1 tub (250 ml) mascarpone
8 meringue nests

To top:
Fresh or frozen raspberries, or similar
icing sugar

Using a microplane or fine grater, finely zest the lemons, taking care not to take off any white pith. Squeeze the lemon juice into a heavy-based saucepan and add the zest, eggs, sugar and cornflour. Whisk the mixture for a minute, until smooth but not frothy.  Cut the butter into little pieces and add it to the pan. Heat the mixture over a gentle flame, stirring constantly. After the butter melts, the mixture will take three or four minutes to thicken, depending on the heat of your stove.

If you have a sugar thermometer, the curd will begin to thicken as it reaches 70ºC. Allow the curd to cook for another minute after it's thickened, then remove from the heat. (If you don't have a thermometer, you'll have to go by texture: the curd is ready once it's just thickened, and has a velvety consistency. Remember, it will thicken more as it cools.)

Place a piece of clingfilm or a disc of waxed paper onto the surface of the curd and allow to cool.

Put the mascarpone in a bowl and beat with a whisk until smooth. (Or whip the cream, if you're using that instead). Fold one cup (250 ml) of the cooled curd into the mascarpone and mix until well combined. Spoon the mixture into the meringue nests, arrange the raspberries on top and dust with a little icing sugar. Serve immediately. Please don't put a mint leaf on top.

Makes enough to fill 8-10 meringue nests.

Note: If anyone would like a copy of the editorial style sheet, recommended reading list and Food Writers' Workshop notes I handed out at the conference, please email me (hobray at gmail.com). Print Friendly

Hot Lemon Pudding

I've been going through my mother's hand-written cookbook (which she started in the early 1970s), giving little cries of joy each time I've come across a recipe for a dish I ate often as a child.

Try this wonderfully easy hot lemon pud. It contains a lot of egg and very little flour, so it puffs up into a light, wobbly, lemon-scented cloud, with a deeply browned top. Excellent with cold whipped cream or hot custard.

My mum always writes down who gave her a recipe , and this one came from her friend and my dear godmother Mari.

Hot Lemon Pudding

3 large free-range eggs
2 Tbsp (30 ml) soft butter
¾ cup (180 ml) white sugar
juice and zest of 1 lemon
2 Tbsp (30 ml) flour
1 cup (250 ml) milk

Heat the oven to 190 °C. Butter a deep pudding bowl. Separate the eggs and lightly whisk the yolks. In a bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy.

Add the lemon juice and zest, and the flour, and stir well. Now add the egg yolks and the milk in the lemon juice and mix until well combined.

Beat the eggs whites to a firm peak (they should not be dry) and fold them carefully into the egg-yolk mixture. Pour the mixture into the pudding bowl and place the bowl in a roasting pan into which you have poured some hot water (the water should come three-quarters of the way up the sides of the pudding dish).

Bake for 35-40 minutes, or until puffed and brown on top. (Watch the pudding like a hawk for the last 10 minutes - you don't want the top to blacken.)

Serves 4


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