Whole Wheat Pasta with Spinach and Walnut Pesto, Haricots Verts, and Rosemary Roasted Potatoes

RECIPE: Whole Wheat Pasta with Spinach and Walnut Pesto, Haricots Verts, and Rosemary Roasted Potatoes

Whole Wheat Pasta Spinach Pesto Haricots Verts Rosemary PotatoesSince moving back to New York, I have fallen prey to the city.  Working by day; cheap but sensational restaurant food by night.  I grew up in New York eating out every other evening, and old habits die hard (or rather, I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for seven years abroad, and am not able to resist!).  But one morning recently Mr. English turned to me and said, “Can we please stay at home and have something healthy tonight?”  He wasn’t born a New York restaurant glutton.

His definition of healthy is his own, but I know it normally means fish or vegetarian, and lots of vegetables.  I agree, but I insist on whole grain.  But no matter whose definition of healthy we’re using, two realities still exist: (1) I have not finished unpacking my kitchen, and (2) I’m too tired after working hard in my new job to make anything other than something quick and easy.

We both fell madly for this pasta.  And for Mr. English that was despite the fact that it was whole wheat.  There is a traditional Italian dish that mixes pasta with pesto and green beans and potatoes.  I had a little fun messing with it.

First, I sliced the potatoes super thin and roasted them with rosemary so the pasta would be studded with almost a savory baked potato chip.  If I had found blue potatoes, it would have been even more fantastic.  Second, I boiled the whole wheat pasta in water flavored with rosemary, to impart a more savory, autumnal flavor than the traditional summer basil pesto.  Third, I cooked the haricots verts right in that rosemary pasta water, to save time and effort.  And finally, I went New Yorker, and went to my supermarket where they sell fantastic fresh pestos.  I bought the spinach and walnut pesto, rather than the usual basil, because it acted more as a vegetable than a sauce, and allowed that fantastic rosemary flavor to permeate the dish without competition.  Plus, it’s cheaper, super-nutritious, and stays wildly green.  If your supermarket doesn’t sell it, use any pesto recipe you like, swapping the basil for baby spinach and the pine nuts for walnuts.

The dish is so vibrantly verdant from the spinach and the haricots verts.  The potatoes add such a welcome crunch.  The rosemary and the heartiness of the whole wheat pasta echoed the fresh coolness in the air.  Perfect perfect perfect.  I can’t wait to make it again.  Bon app!

Whole Wheat Pasta with Spinach and Walnut Pesto, Haricots Verts, and Rosemary Roasted Potatoes
serves 4 (or 2 with leftovers)

Whole Wheat Pasta Spinach Pesto Haricots Verts Rosemary PotatoesINGREDIENTS

  • 2 stems of fresh rosemary
  • 7 smallish Yukon Gold potatoes, sliced thinly on a mandoline (or use blue potatoes if you can find them!)
  • 2 – 3 teaspoons olive oil
  • Salt and pepper
  • 1 pound haricots verts, trimmed and halved
  • 1 pound whole wheat short pasta, like campanelle
  • 1 cup spinach-walnut pesto (I buy mine ready made from the refrigerated section of my supermarket)

METHOD

First things first: Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F and bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.  Add one stem of rosemary to the water.

Place the sliced potatoes on a parchment-lined baking sheet.  Remove the leaves from the other stem of rosemary, chop, and add to the potatoes along with the olive oil.  Season with salt and pepper, toss, and roast until golden around the edges—about 20 minutes.  Set aside.

Once the rosemary water comes to a boil, cook the haricots verts until just tender, 3-6 minutes depending on the thickness of the green beans.  Remove to a bowl with a spider.

In the same rosemary water, cook the whole wheat pasta until al dente.  Reserve 1 cup of the cooking water before draining.

In the same big pot, toss together the whole wheat pasta, haricots verts, roasted potatoes, and the spinach-walnut pesto.  Moisten with the reserved pasta water if needed.  Serve hot or at room temperature.  You can’t go wrong.

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Categories: 30 Minutes, Cheap, Easy, Eat, Main Courses, Recipes, Sides, Starches, Vegetarian, Vegetarian
 

Sticky, Spicy, Sweet: Maille’s Honey Balsamic Dijon Mustard Comes to America

RECIPE: Sticky, Spicy, Sweet Maille Honey Balsamic Dijon Cocktail Sausages with Fresh Herbs

Maille Honey Balsamic Sausages SmallAs I mentioned before, in the last weeks before we left London, we were overwhelmed by packing.  Can we import this?  Should we bother importing this?  I’m very indecisive, so choice is a true torture for me.  Thankfully, the moving company had offered me no choice about one thing.  Don’t pack alcohol, they told us, it could delay your stuff for months.

In London every possible occasion had meant that we became the recipient of some bottle of alcohol.  Bottles of wine from my boss for the holidays.  Bottles of champagne from our engagement.  Even a bottle of Jonny Walker Blue that we inherited for hosting an Opening Ceremony party.  We had them stacked on bookshelves in the kitchen.  And so in the spirit of waste not want not, we had a liquor cabinet party down in the garden of our London apartment one early summer evening.  It was a very plastic-cups affair, everyone showed up, and by midnight, all our beautiful bottles were reduced to recycling.

While I’m not a big drinker (that night I dribbled some crème de pêche I’d picked up in Paris into my sparkling water for my usual almost-virgin Kir Royale), I am a big eater, and the idea of a party without food just isn’t a party for me.  I had some jars of Maille mustard that I also wanted to use up before the move.

I’ve been SAVING this recipe since June until I could announce that finally, my favorite jar of Maille mustard, the Honey Balsamic Dijon, is available in the US.  Maille makes a phenomenal, smooth, spicy honey mustard, and this balsamic version has a bit more sweet-tart complexity from the vinegar.  But my favorite part is its gorgeous near-black color.  A stunner.  I love it in sandwiches, of course, and in vinaigrettes, but I think it is particularly wonderful in marinades and glazes.

Britain makes wonderful sausages, and they even make very gourmet cocktail-sized versions.  I threw together a two-second glaze of Maille Honey Balsamic Dijon mustard, Maille old-fashioned whole grain mustard for texture, honey for sweet glazing thickness and to emphasize the sweetness in the mustard, fresh thyme and rosemary, and salt.  Toss the sausages in the mustards and honey, spread on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and broil, turning once.  It is so easy.  The honey caramelizes and gets sticky, and the mustards stay bright and spicy and slightly acidic.  I threw them all into a bowl with some cocktail sticks and a sprinkling of more fresh herbs, and they were by far everyone’s favorite of the night, gone long before the wine and whisky.

Maille_Honey Dijon with Balsamic Vinegar of Modena

You can buy Maille Honey Dijon with Balsamic Vinegar of Modena online.

Sticky, Spicy, Sweet Maille Honey Balsamic Dijon Cocktail Sausages with Fresh Herbs
serves a crowd of 15

Maille Honey Balsamic Sausages SmallINGREDIENTS

  • 2.5 pounds good quality fresh cocktail sausages
  • 1/4 cup Maille Honey Balsamic Dijon mustard
  • 1 tablespoon Maille whole grain mustard
  • 2 tablespoons honey
  • 1 tablespoon chopped fresh herbs — thyme, rosemary
  • Salt

METHOD

Preheat the broiler and place the oven rack in the top third of the oven.  Pat the sausages dry with paper towel.  In a large bowl, whisk together the other ingredients.  Add the sausages and toss to coat.  Arrange in a single layer on a parchment-lined rimmed baking sheet.  (You may want to line the baking sheet with foil first—the honey caramelizes and foil will make cleaning up a lot easier.)  Broil for about 10 minutes, until burnished and crisp.  Shake around and broil another 2 minutes.  Serve hot!

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Berlin’s Borchardt: The Schnitzel to End All Schnitzels

Borchardt Schnitzel 2 Edit

Borchardt’s Schitzel with Chanterelles in Berlin

Life back in New York has begun.  Every minute feels like it needs to be packed with the things that were missed.  Family.  Friends.  New York Times crossword puzzles on the East River.  Half sour pickles.

While cramming in one more New York essential — a trip to Broadway — we were transported back to our summer, blissfully between jobs, in Europe.  As the lights went down in Studio 54 and the disco ball started to glitter on Michelle Williams and Alan Cumming in Cabaret, I thought back to the 48 we had spent in Berlin in July.  We stayed at the Soho House, which in that city, I found delightfully unpretentious.  Our room was full of housemade cookies and classical music twinkling out of a 1930s-style radio, and Cowshed products in which I doused myself in the dimly-lit shower.  The bar, too, was quietly populated and the bartender shared his recipe for homemade ginger ale.  I am sworn to secrecy, otherwise I would post it here!

Berlin Collage 2

We only had one night, and we spent it at Borchardt.  The maitre d’ is a French dynamo of a man who spoke to me in French from word one despite the fact that we were in Berlin and we were clearly Anglo-Americans.  I liked that about him.  Berliners populated all the tables, fashionable on a Sunday night.  A news boy (do these still exist?) came by table by table touting tomorrow’s paper, and selling early editions.  Brobdingnagian displays of crimson gladioli stood in urns around the room.  It was a restaurant of banquets—not too fancy, but a determined hint of pomp and class.  And the specialty was schnitzel.

Our waiter was perhaps the kindest, most jovial Berliner in Berlin.  He advised me to order just half the schnitzel—which was good council, as it still hung over the rims of the plate.  You could order it with the traditional potato salad, as Mr. English did, or you could go for the true house special—Schnitzel with Chanterelles.  Which, of course, I did.  I apologize for the darkness of photo, but I still had to post it here, because as a schnitzel fanatic, I attest that this and Figlmuller in Austria were the two best schnitzels I have ever had.  And while Figlmuller feels like a banquet hall, this is a glamorous schnitzel.  The atmosphere, the chanterelles, the Riesling, the flowers.  Thin as a sheet, and with a crust that seems to live apart from the meat inside it, nested with a flurry of tiny mushrooms.

Borchardt Schnitzel 1 Edit

Cabaret, incidentally, was as good as the Borchardt schnitzel and I couldn’t recommend it more.  After the show, I went out and bought my husband a pineapple.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’ll have to go and see the show!

To see more from our European adventure, check out my Instagram: @kerrysaretsky!

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Categories: Restaurants, Voyages
 

Kerry & French Revolution in Food & Home Entertaining South Africa

A HUGE thank you to the team at Food & Home Entertaining in South Africa for profiling me and French Revolution for their all-things-French July issue.  It was such a pleasure, and I can’t thank you enough!  If you’re in SA, be sure to check it out.

Food & Home Entertaining South Africa Profile

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Camembert Fondue-in-a-Box with New Potatoes and Cornichons

RECIPE: Camembert Fondue-in-a-Box

Camembert Fondue in a BoxI feel so lucky.  My favorite weeks of the year are my summer holiday in France, and here I am!  We drove our little rented diesel Peugeot into the medieval town of Issigeac in the Perigord for market day today; then we stopped our car on the way back to the hotel in a field of sunflowers to feast on my finds.  The rain shot down all around us in angry cords, but we were warm and happy as we tucked into my little market bag.  Nothing can take away from the quivering happiness I take in the discussions I have at local French markets.  Mr. English indulges me by parking himself in a nearby cafe with his International New York Times.  Under the drizzle, I spent five full minutes with the tomato dealer debating the sweetness and firmness of a spectrum of tomato specimens.  My olive dealer walked me through his five varieties of tapenades, all with samples, before we settled together on La Melisse, a concoction of both black and green olives that he assured me was ‘faite maison’, or made by him himself.  And I spent considerable time in a frank conversation with the melon guy.  He didn’t want me to be disappointed.  We look forward to our melon de pays each summer, and this was to be our first.  ’They are very sweet,’ he assured me, ‘but if you want to eat it today, well, it’s complicated.’  Only in France could a melon be complicated.

I rounded it off with some tomme de brebis, aged six months, and a really huge baguette.  Mr. English got out the Laguiole pocketknife he bought yesterday in Sarlat for this exact purpose, and set to work on the tomatoes and melon and cheese on the dashboard.  I just started dipping the giant baguette into the tapenade.  The melon juice ran down on fingers.  It was happy.

Issigeac Market Collage

A peek at the Perigord markets…

Tomorrow, for le quatorze juillet, we will be eating duck confit in a little inn on our way to the Midi.  Hopefully, we will catch some fireworks, and be able to squeeze in our traditional annual game of pétanque.  But before I left London, I came up with the perfect recipe for cheats’ Camembert fondue in case you’re having people over for the occasion.  It will also work well as a nation-neutral snack for the big game tonight.

Start with a round of Camembert in a wooden box.  Open up the box and unwrap the cheese, then put the cheese back into the box, and wrap the box all around in aluminum foil.  Put the cheese in a hot oven for half an hour, break through the rind, and voilà, you have a little fondue-in-a-box.  I serve it with boiled or roasted new potatoes, and some little Maille cornichons.  It might sound weird to dip pickles into a cheese fondue, but it’s traditional.  The French always serve something sharp and fresh with things that are rich and heavy—like cornichons with pâté.  And I love it, so I do it too.  Just stack a potato and a cornichon on a little cocktail stick and dip into the molten Camembert.  It’s so good and convivial, and definitely easier than traditional fondue.

Bon app!

Maille_Cornichons_Jar Shot_14 oz

Merci, Maille, for the cornichons! Maille cornichons are available to buy in many supermarkets and online. Click the picture for the link.

Camembert Fondue-in-a-Box
serves 10

Camembert Fondue in a BoxINGREDIENTS

  • 1 250g round of Camembert in a wooden box
  • 2 pounds boiled or roasted baby new potatoes
  • 50 Maille cornichons

METHOD

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.  Open the Camembert box, and take the wrapper off the cheese.  Place the cheese back on the box, wrap the box tightly in aluminum foil, and place the box on a small rimmed baking sheet, just to catch any melted cheese that might escape.  Bake for 30 minutes.  At that time, pierce the top rind of the cheese, and the cheese should be runny within.  If not, rewrap the box in the foil, and continue baking until the cheese is molten and dip-able.

Serve with roasted or boiled baby new potatoes, cornichons, and cocktail sticks.  I will either boil the potatoes in salted water until tender, or roast them with olive oil, salt, and fresh thyme in a 400 degree F oven for 20 to 30 minutes.

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Categories: 30 Minutes, Appetizers & Hors D’Oeuvres, Bread & Butter, Cheap, Dips, Spreads, Preserves, Easy, Eat, For a Crowd, Recipes, Vegetarian
 

Fourth of July with Maille: Jambon Beurre Cornichon Tartines for Nibbling

RECIPE: Mini Jambon Beurre Cornichon Tartines

Jambon Beurre Cornichon TartineMr. English and I have left our apartment in London.  We have a few weeks between jobs, and I feel like a real literary heroine from the late nineteenth century, on a true European tour.  But before we left our flat, we had some assets to divest, and they had to be divested appropriately.

Over the course of the last three years, we have bought, and received, an extraordinarily substantial amount of wine.  Engagement gifts.  Wedding gifts.  Christmas gifts from the office.  Gifts from Mr. English’s family as they want abroad and wanted to bring us back a taste of wherever.  Gifts for dinner parties.  Gifts we bought for other people’s dinner parties that we forgot to take with us and remembered only once we were on the Tube.  You get the picture.  We had a stash, and we weren’t going to pay duties to ship it across the sea and into a giant pile in our new New York apartment.

Jambon Beurre Cornichon 2So we invited some close friends for a Sips and Bites party.  I had absolutely no kitchen equipment in the house except a beat up old cookie sheet I got from Publix eight years ago that was going in the trash anyway.  Service would be on paper and plastic.  So everything had to be super-simple.  Maille, my favorite French mustard and pickle company, had gifted me with some of my favorite jars to develop into recipes.  It was my last assignment to complete before I headed off on the holiday of a lifetime.  But they had to be really easy, because all I had was the Publix baking sheet and the mustard and pickles!

Here’s the first recipe, which is a spin on the classic French sandwich the jambon-beurre, just in time for July 4th.  The following three recipes I’ll be doing over the course of the summer, so stay tuned!

The jambon-beurre is not intuitive back home in America.  The idea of buttering ham may seem a little over the top.  But don’t think of the butter as an extra—think of it as an ingredient.  Good, sweet cream butter in a thick enough layer to counteract the salty and sometimes smoky attitude of the ham.  It’s a perfect marriage.  Served on baguette, it is so good and Chanel-suit classic.  But what I also love is the French tradition of pairing any kind of charcuterie, be it salami (rosette de Lyon!) or rillettes or terrine, with cornichons.  The acidic twang of the little pickles smashes through the decadence and gaminess of the meat—and, in this case, the richness of the butter.

Jambon Beurre Cornichon 3Here’s my little party spin, which would make a fantastic something to nibble on while you get everything on and off the grill on Friday.  Instead of using ham in the charcuterie sense, I simply roast a pork tenderloin (I used olive oil, salt, pepper, and fresh thyme, but you could change up the herbs, used dried herbes de Provence, or even use Maille wholegrain mustard on the outside) until it is juicy and tender, and then thinly slice it.  You could either do this ahead in the oven while your grill is warming up, or you could do it on the grill itself which would add a fabulous depth of flavor—just cook the pork until the internal temperature reaches 145 degrees F, then let it rest for 10 minutes.

I cut a baguette into rounds slightly thicker than the ham.  Because the diameter of the baguette and the tenderloin are nearly identical, they make perfect little tartines.  I spread the baguette rounds with butter, lay on a slice of the pork, and then topped with a Maille cornichon, halved and crossed on top.

I have to say, I was not disappointed.  These jambon-beurre-cornichons flew off the (plastic) tray in minutes.  I had mine with a little trickle of crème de pêche topped with sparkling water.  I will miss my water kirs in New York!  Bon app, and Happy Independence Day from a long ways away!

Maille Cornichon Collage

Cornichon sampling at the Maille superstore in London

Maille cornichons are available in the US here.

Mini Jambon Beurre Cornichon Tartines
serves 10

Jambon Beurre Cornichon TartineINGREDIENTS

  • 1 400g pork tenderloin
  • 1-2 teaspoons olive oil
  • Fresh thyme and rosemary
  • 1 baguette, sliced into thinnish rounds
  • Unsalted butter to taste, room temperature
  • About 20 Maille cornichons, halved lengthwise (you’ll need the same amount as baguette slices, which will depend on your baguette and the thickness of your slices!)

METHOD

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.  Pat the pork dry with paper towel and season liberally with salt and pepper.  Rub all over with olive oil, and pick the leaves from the herbs and lightly dress them in olive oil as well.  Arrange the pork on a parchment-lined rimmed baking sheet and top with the herbs.  Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until the internal temperature reaches 145 degrees F.  Allow to rest 10 minutes, and then slice thinly.

To assemble the tartines, smear each baguette round with butter and top with a slice of pork and two cornichon halves, crossed over each other.  Arrange on a platter and serve!

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Lamb Shank Mechoui with Mina Green Harissa Fennel and Herb Slaw and Whole Wheat Citrus Couscous

RECIPE: Lamb Shank Mechoui with Mina Green Harissa Fennel and Herb Slaw and Whole Wheat Citrus Couscous

Lamb Shank Mechoui Green Harissa SlawMost little girls grow up dreaming of the big white wedding.  I grew up dreaming of my henna.  The night before any good French-Moroccan girl’s holy matrimony, the whole wedding party gets together for what I have always described as a co-ed bachelorette.  The fête gets its name from the henna that is used to stain the palms of the hands of all the female attendants—instead, I asked a henna artist to come and paint intricate patterns.  Mémé was aghast at the change in tradition—she had given me her WWII reparations money to pay for the party, and was so lovely and generous about allowing me to do anything I wanted with it, despite her obvious trepidation.  I wore a white silk velvet caftan I’d bought at La Maison du Caftan in Marrakech, embroidered in gold.  But it was short, with slits, and long sleeves, and I wore it with gold Prada platforms.  Mémé clucked at me from her floor-length version.  Leave it to me to New York the henna, and I sensed her worry that her precious party was about to go to a place she didn’t recognize.

We booked out Le Palmier in Tours, a wonderfully mosaiced restaurant, reminiscent of memories of Mémé’s childhood riad, that I stocked with the henna artist, a live Moroccan trio, a belly dancer, and a card magician—a tradition you’ll see in restaurants in Morocco, where a man will come sit at your table and entrance you with sleight of hand.  My great uncle David, Mémé’s brother, had mesmerized me as a child at Friday night dinners, and I just had to have it.  For dinner, we served all my Moroccan favorites, which Mr. English has come to love too, thanks to Mémé and the trip to Marrakech to get the caftan.  Crisp, juicy, spicy and smoky merguez, charred black.  Couscous with vegetables and chick peas in broth to pour over it.  A million little salads to start, fresh and crisp and bright.  And of course, mechoui—slowly braised shoulder of lamb, simply done in broth, so that the meat falls apart and shreds and the broth soaks into the couscous and makes it savory and stunning and addictive.

Kerry Henna

Photo by my extraordinarily talented cousin, the photographer and director Yonathan Kellerman: www.ykellerman.com

After dinner, once the mint tea had been drained and the sesame cookies had been reduced to crumbs.  Once Tonton David has asked all my prettiest friends to join him in belly dancing while he had a bottle of red wine open on his head.  Once Mr. English had danced with Mémé, a fez bought in the souk perched on his decidedly English head, she turned to me with tears in her eyes and said, unbelievingly, “But Kerry, you thought of everything!  It is as a henna should be.”  And I realized how strange it must be to her, who left Morocco for France as a teenager after the war, to end up with a New Yorker for a grand-daughter.  It meant very much to me for her to see that our difference in the brave new world was something to be openly celebrated.  And our American and English guests were just as celebratory as the French and Moroccan—Moroccans know how to party, and that’s a language everyone can understand.

Mina, the harissa evangelist behind Mina harissa, sent me her new green harissa and asked me to develop a few recipes around it.  When I told her I’d be starting with mechoui, she wrote back, “Good—the king of dishes!”  It is regal, the feastiness of it, which is why I chose it to anchor our henna banquet.  But as I am always trying to reinvent Moroccan classics, again to Mémé’s horror, I wanted to find a way to merge the litany of small Moroccan salads into our main meal, to lighten up the mechoui, and to bring some modernity to the course load of a Moroccan dinner at home.

Kerry Henna 2For the mechoui itself, I used lamb shanks—they braise so beautifully and make for individual portions of mechoui, which I like.  I braised them in broth with mint and cilantro and cumin and garlic—simple but honest.  I served them with my citrus couscous.  It’s the best alternative to plain white couscous.

Then, as a bright relish, I created a fennel and herb salad to top the stewed meat and add crunch and flavor and freshness.  Mina’s green harissa, with its mild heat and cumin smokiness, formed the cornerstone of its dressing, and the fresh mint and cilantro echoed the cooked braising herbs.  The contrast was so fresh and the flavors so authentic—even if the preparation decidedly wasn’t—that even Mémé, so incredulous during the three-hour braise that she had fully snacked her way through a bag of almonds and a Scotch on the rocks, ate with gusto.

Proof that the more things change, the better they can become, so long as a little kernel, at the root, remains the same.

Mina_Harissa_line

Lamb Shank Mechoui with Mina Green Harissa Fennel and Herb Slaw and Whole Wheat Citrus Couscous
serves 4

Lamb Shank Mechoui Green Harissa SlawINGREDIENTS

Lamb Shank Mechoui

  • 1 tablespoon ras-el-hanout
  • 1 teaspoon cumin
  • 4 lamb shanks
  • Salt and pepper
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 8 cloves garlic, whole
  • 2 cups beef broth (low-sodium and organic if possible)
  • 1 small bunch mint
  • 1 small bunch cilantro
  • 1 small bunch thyme

Citrus Couscous

  • 2 cups whole wheat couscous
  • The zest and juice of 1 lemon
  • The zest and juice of 1 orange
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • Salt

Green Harissa Slaw

  • 1/2 cup mint leaves
  • 1/2 cup cilantro leaves
  • 1 fennel bulb, thinly sliced
  • 5 scallions, thinly sliced on an angle
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
  • Salt
  • 2 tablespoons Mina green harissa
  • The seeds from 1 pomegranate (optional)

METHOD

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.  In a small bowl, mix together the ras-el-hanout and cumin.  Season the lamb with salt and pepper, and the spice blend.  In a heavy, wide braising pot, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium-high heat.  Sear the lamb to a light golden brown on all sides.  Add the garlic, the beef broth, 1 cup water, and the small bunches of mint, cilantro, and thyme.  Bring the broth to a boil.  Cover, and place in the oven for 3 hours.

To make the couscous, boil 2 cups of water.  In a bowl, stir together the couscous, lemon zest and juice, orange zest and juice, olive oil, and a pinch of salt.  Top with the water, and cover the bowl with a lid, plate, or plastic wrap—anything so the steam can’t escape.  Let sit 5-6 minutes, then fluff with a fork.

Next, make the slaw.  Put the mint, cilantro, fennel, scallions (I slice the fennel and scallions with the thin slicing disc on a food processor, but you could also use a mandoline or a knife), olive oil, lemon juice, a pinch of salt, and the harissa in a bowl, and toss to combine just before serving.  Decant into a serving bowl and top with the pomegranate seeds if using.

Bring the lamb mechoui, steaming, to the table, along with the bowls of fluffy, bright couscous and the crisp, hot slaw.  I serve with Greek or natural yogurt and more Mina green harissa on the table.  Let everyone build his or her own Moroccan feast.  Regale yourself.

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Categories: Easy, Eat, Main Courses, Meat, Recipes