“He’s looking at my legs again…” is the frequent bleat of attractive young lambs. Having your legs checked out, as a lamb, will mean one of two things: you’re about to become the plaything of a lonely shepherd or you’r changing your name to G.Igot. With blood stained hands I mulled over the misfortune of being born a lamb and carefully reconsidered my stance as a near vegetarian. A near Miss could be defined as the subject of unsuccessful gender changing surgery but there is no doubting the equivocation in the term near vegetarian…certainly in a lamb’s mind, which are apparently delicious too. And so it was that the apologist for aubergines was wrist deep in dead lamb. Racked ( that’s quite a lamby term, I thought) with guilt, I collected bunches of fresh rosemary and thyme from the garden and created a sort of aromatic Viking pyre upon which to settle the lost limb of lamb. Cloves of garlic were crushed with olive oil in a pestle and mortar with the resulting unctuous paste being spread over the skin together with a seasoning of sea salt and black pepper. The wonderful scent of herbs and garlic that filled the kitchen made me completely forget about the little chap in the field trying to balance on three legs.
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