Dans la congelateur, s’il te plait
This morning the change was confirmed. The wind had shifted. The air is now tinged not with the sands of the Sahara, but with the brine of the Atlantic. Spring is here. Yesterday, I finished off the last of the mouton. I think the onset of Easter time led me to dig out the leg from the congelateur. Last Korite, Astou had arrived saying that she had brought some mouton for our family from hers. Tu est tres gentile, grand merci, I said, imagining a nice little Tupperware of her grilled lamb leftovers. C’est dans la sac ici. Inside the black plastic sac reading “Senegal, Senegal, Senegal” was the jambe entier vraiment crue. I ceremoniously found a spot in the freezer, saving the task of thinking about how to cook an entire leg of Dakar sheep for another day. The day came, out came the leg, out came the Good Housekeeping Cookbook. Concerned about the results, I hadn’t invited a soul over for dinner. Just Allison, me, and the leg. I was shocked at how well it turned out, not just good, but heavenly. Can we make this an annual rite of Spring?