Cradock - When you’re on the road, staying in other people’s houses, you make do with what you have or what you can find.
What you find in other people’s kitchen cupboards could be surprising, or horrifying, even shocking. It could also be refreshing or even delightful, but I wouldn’t put money on it.
Having said that, in one friend’s house I coveted almost anything I saw in every cupboard. Sensuous spices, fragrant oils, all manner of exotics from secret corners of the culinary world. But Liesl is a true, born cook, and not everyone is. You are just as likely – or more likely – to find jars of rancid pasta, weevils crawling around in a forgotten packet of flour, and something globby and gooey stuck at the bottom of what may or may not once have been a jar of jam.
Not that it would be wise or fair to claim any upper ground here. We have all been there, forgotten a container of something at the back of the fridge for weeks or even months, or not noticed when a packet of whatever dropped behind a kitchen unit and left it undetected until further notice, only to hoik it out one day to find something slimy on your fingers. So I am not pointing fingers. Not that I necessarily identify with the hapless customers who come in for a basting by Gordon Ramsay when he sees the contents of their fridges and cupboards. But all of us have failed the basic kitchen health standards on occasion.
When you’re away from home, it gets more complex, as you’re dealing with the buying and storing habits of others, or buying stuff on the go, and making do with what you find and what is quick and easy.
We stayed in a flat in central Cape Town for seven nights recently, and invited round two old friends for an evening of wine, stories, roast lamb and reminiscences. I’m not one for shop-bought marinades or spice mixes. The kind of thing labelled “chicken spice” or “steak and chops”. Or “herbs for potjiekos” or “avocado spice mix – just add avocado”.
I avoid them as I would a suggestion that I pour Aromat over everything. Aromat doesn’t taste of herbs or spices, or of any known flavour. It tastes of zing. But you can get zing by making any number of your own mixes. Give me some fresh herbs and whole spices that I can toast in a dry pan and crush in a mortar and pestle, or a pestle and mortar, whatever.
Lemon zest has as much zing as you’ll ever need, as does its limey cousin, or that wonderful ingredient, sesame oil. If you doubt that, take two pieces of chicken breast fillet, douse one in Aromat and the other in sesame oil, pan-fry them and compare their flavour. You’ll throw out the Aromat right away.
But needs must when you’re not back home in your own kitchen. And having said all of the above, I do know and acknowledge that some of the mixes I’ve pilloried here have merit, even if they’re far from being my first port of call.
I had bought, for our travels, a one-spice-fits-all option of a bottle of Ina Paarman’s garlic and chilli seasoning. Having bought a leg of lamb (a Karoo one as it happens), and some lovely leeks and a fat butternut, I grabbed a packet of fresh thyme and headed home.
Preparing the leg of lamb for the oven, I spied the chilli and garlic spice mix and thought, why not, give it a try. The flavour when coupled with masses of fresh thyme, was just wonderful. So here’s how…
Herby, spicy leg of lamb
1 leg of lamb
Ina Paarman’s chilli and garlic seasoning
Salt and pepper to taste
Masses of thyme sprigs
Olive oil
Cut away any excess fat from the leg of lamb. This does not mean all of it – fat, nicely crisped and browned, is one of the best things about a leg of lamb or for that matter a lamb cutlet – but just any thick parts of fat.
Season the leg on all sides with salt and pepper, and then with the aforementioned spice mix. Generously. I seriously used loads of it. Scatter sprigs of thyme all over the pan and place the leg on them.
Drizzle extra virgin olive oil all over, and pop it into a preheated 180degC oven for 20 minutes, then turn the heat down to 150 and leave it for a good four to five hours, basting once in a while. This recipe is not for the prized rare in the middle, pink kind of leg of lamb. Lovely as that is, once in a while it’s nice to ring the changes, and this is such a time.
When it’s done, wrap leg thoroughly in lots of foil and keep it warm while you cook any accompaniments. Spoon off excess fat, add leftover wine and reduce to a lovely sauce. Don’t get carried away… you only need the sauce to moisten the meat. Bon appétit.
Weekend Argus