July 26, 2010
Spiced Lamb Sliders with Tahini Yogurt Sauce
I’m not a huge red meat lover. Aside from the occasional fillet or burger, I’m content to forget about beef. But lamb. Oy. It makes me swoon. And drats, I’m not the only one, it seems. Last year I could count on finding a decent stock of ground lamb or lamb shoulder at my local grocery. Nowadays I’m engaging in purse battles with Neighbor Nelly over the last lingering loin. It’s become somewhat of a hot commodity. Who told you it was so good?
I already gave you the run down on this lamb ragu, forever ago in March. And since, there’s been hearty lamb stew and fall off the bone lamb shoulder and ack! no photos to prove it. But believe me when I tell you they happened and they were glorious and ack! no photos to prove it. I can only test Kyle’s growling stomach for so long. At times I think he’d like to chuck my camera against a wall. Plus, not everything makes for pretty pictures. So yeah, hearty lamb stew and fall of the bone lamb shoulder, both of which resembled…I digress.
March 31, 2010
Fettucine with Lamb Ragù and Ricotta
We’ve been living in our house for just shy of two years now. Having been foreclosed on and neglected for over a year, it was (and still is) in disrepair. It’s our 75 year old baby. It demands lots of love and attention and patience and savings. It’s been the cause of many moments of bickering (we’re both relatively new to this home improvement gig and, thus, feel entitled to our own very strong opinions), hours of waiting for paint to dry, and too many trips to Home Depot ten minutes before closing. It’s the reason I can recite more of Behr’s color palate than I wish to admit, carry paint swatches around in my purse, and drive Kyle crazy with my shade, tone and hue indecisiveness. Me: But don’t you think Rocky Mountain Sky is a bit more grey than Himalayan Mist and would work best in the master? Kyle: Sure sounds good, honey (read: I don’t really give a damn, they’re both mountains to me. Please just pick one). This baby of ours is the reason I’ve cried at three o’clock in the morning when the bathroom doorknob jams, shown up to work with primer and Cliff Rock in my hair, and slept with lights on when Kyle’s away because of weird nighttime creaks. But I wouldn’t take back a single sleepless night or trade a single second we’ve spent tending to this house for anything. Because at the end of the day, this house is our home regardless of all the trim that needs painted or the basement that needs waterproofing or the garage that needs rebuilt. I really love this place, our home.
This past weekend we were hit with a bout of “get’er done”. After a couple months of housework slacking (hey, it was winter after all), we were ready once again to don paint splattered pants and ball caps, blast Ok Go and cross a few more chores off the (exhaustively long) to-do list. Working in separate corners of the house (we’ve discovered this works best for keeping unnecessary opinions to ourselves) we taped, primed, painted, caulked, wired and replaced. On Sunday evening, after calling it a day, we were reminded of the “housework aches”, the stiff lower back, the throbbing calves, the sore neck. Proof that we’d put in some solid hours of real gosh darn work and were deserving of a big steaming bowl of pasta (and glass of red wine). You know I’m excited about a recipe if I choose to cook after a long day of inhaling paint fumes. This did not disappoint.