Leg of Lamb

Like the obligatory snap shots tourists to Egypt have taken of themselves standing in front of the sphinx, or astride a camel in front of the pyramids, most travelers have an agenda.  Mine was to cook a leg of lamb on the grill before we left, a Greek thing, in the finest traditions of Homer’s Epic Heroes and Zorba, it was still an unchecked box on my “to do” list and we were into the last week of the trip.

I had acquired a meat thermometer, made inquiries as to which woods might be suitable to the task, and had pretested the grill on less ambitious cuts of meat, but the most consistent advice I kept getting from the locals was to forget it, “Your grill is too small…it could take four hours or more…. it is too difficult a thing to cook outside of an oven….after smelling it cook on the grill all day, you won’t want to eat it….etc.”  Not even the butchers were too encouraging, they advised chicken, pork, or steak, but a when a leg of lamb for the grill was mentioned, it was usually met with a non committal shrug.  I’m a pro on the grill, an ace on the smoker, but like a field goal kicker during the closing minutes of the game who looks up to see the opposing coach call a time out, I was getting performance anxiety.



Collecting wild rosemary

Despite the expert odds makers’ gloomy predictions, I bought a leg of lamb in Vathi and spent the next day picking rosemary, gathering dry branches of olive wood, collecting lemons, and grinding garlic with a mortar and a pestle.  Kathy started asking if I wouldn’t like to invite company over for a dinner party and share the lamb with a few friends.  I drug my heels until she got the message, I was not anxious to be in the spotlight if this thing went badly.

Sunday came, the fire was built, and the project went off without a hitch.  I concocted an herbal, lemon, olive oil, marinade and basting solution for the lamb, and Kathy sliced up some fresh tomatoes, put some our neighbor’s golf ball sized onions on bamboo skewers, and cut up some zucchini for the grill. The meal wasn’t good, it was spectacular, end zone dancing delicious.  I wish now that I’d cooked for the whole village, but I’d hedged my bets.  If I wanted to be carried off the field on the shoulders of appreciative dinner guests, I would have  to wait.  As they say in Gator Football…..”Next year.”

 

photos by Newell and Skaggs