An Exhaustive Discourse On My Two Culinary Triumphs

I had two culinary triumphs yesterday. For the last several years, as my interest in complex cooking has waned, any culinary triumph is a miracle. So to have two in one day was almost too much for me, and I will now have to publicly pat myself on the back.

First, after years of unfruitful attempts, I produced a loaf of bread that had the crispy, crackly golden crust of a bakery loaf. Second, I successfully roasted a leg of lamb.

First, the thorough and extensive story of the bread: (you can stop reading now if stories of baking or roasting make you want to repeatedly pound your head on an unforgiving surface or stick spikes through your eyeballs. I would not want to be responsible for blog-induced injury. Just celebrate my triumphs with me for a moment and then go on about your life.)

Do you know how impossible it is to recreate steam injection in your home oven? I played with terra cotta tiles and spraying water onto the bread as it cooked, but every time you open the oven, all the heat escapes (as well as the steam), and it takes a good ten minutes for the temperature to recover. Leaving pans of water on the bottom shelf didn't help, either.

But yesterday, in a burst of culinary inspiration the likes of which I haven't experienced for a very long time, I pulled out my unglazed clay pot. I bought this clay pot from a thrift store about a year ago, knowing I was getting an incredible bargain; but even at that very reasonable price, I have only used it once in all this time. Yesterday, however, I suddenly realized I had the perfect ingredients for a steam oven (the original recipe calls for a cast iron Dutch oven with a lid, which also traps steam and is what gave me the idea, but I don't own a cast iron Dutch oven with a lid). I soaked the pot in water for 15 minutes while the oven heated up. Then I stuck the loaf of bread into it (my hands were wet, so that also helped create that crackly crust), snugged on the lid, and popped the whole thing into the hot oven. After 30 minutes, I took the lid off so the crust could brown. 15 minutes later, I pulled out this gorgeous, golden-brown loaf and put it on a rack. I could literally hear the crust cracking as it cooled.

Later, when Husband got home, I sliced off a hunk of it, slathered it in butter and Fortnum & Mason's Christmas Extra Jam Spiced Preserves ("Extremely full of plums, redcurrants, strawberries & raspberries") and presented it to him with a flair.

"Just look at that crust!" I crowed.

"It looks just like bakery bread. You bought this bread, didn't you?" he said with some unbelief.

"Remember that clay pot you wondered why I bought and when I was ever going to use it? Turns out it's perfect for baking bread."

He loved it, of course. Now he's having fantasies of enjoying fresh, crusty bakery bread every day, and I can't wait to play with different flours. Of course, I forgot to mix up a batch in the evening so I could let it sit overnight. But tomorrow, the heavenly scent of baking fresh bread (mixed with a slight undertone of wet clay) will once again bless the house.

Later in the evening, I pulled the leg of lamb out of the fridge, where it had been marinating in olive oil, salt, pepper, and rosemary all night. I roasted it directly on the oven rack and let the juices drip into a pan on the rack below. I don't buy lamb as a rule. I don't buy much meat at all, in fact, much less meat from darling baby animals. But the leg was a gift from someone, and I felt that the poor, sweet little lamby would have died in vain if I didn't make use of his leg.

It turned out really well, all tender and juicy, and so tasty when doused in mint sauce. We ate dinner and then I cut the rest of the meat from the bone and put the bite-size pieces into baggies in the freezer to be used later for a Greek pita filling and Indian lamb coconut korma. I'll use the bone and bits to make a broth. Then I will probably never eat lamb again.

I don't know...two culinary triumphs in one day is kind of exhilarating, and exhilaration can be exhausting. I don't even know what we're having for dinner tonight. I also just remembered I have a meeting at six o'clock, so my family will be lucky not to starve until I get back. It's feast or famine around here.