It is a sad fact of life that if we live to middle age we almost inevitably morph into models of our parents. Not completely, we are individuals, but in part. This for me is most noticeable in certain food habits, as the shared diet of my youthful years is the foundation of my culinary experience.
I felt suddenly like my father a few weeks ago when I found my self whingeing to the butcher at Booth's about the price of lamb shanks. They used to be given away almost, but now cost between £3 and £4 each. Same with several other foodstuffs, like monkfish, crab, and sweetbreads (some butchers couldn't give them away, though that was ignorance on the part of customers). History is littered with such matters, with asparagus and oysters once the food of the poor, now very much the food of the comfortably off if not rich. My father constantly complains about the price of such items as lamb shanks, spare ribs, brisket and so on, as his mother did before him (she was eventually in her 70s banned from a local store for doing this once too often).
In spite of the price I did lamb shanks for us yesterday, braising them at 125 centigrade for five hours, the meat on a bed of our home-grown veg (turnips and kohl rabi for depth and bulk, carrots and onion for sweetness, herbs and garlic for interest). Doing my particular work (at home) I get the chance to try slow-cooking like that, able to keep an eye open in case things dry out. The results showed why lamb shanks are now expensive: meat falling off the bone, rich juices for dipping bread into, and slutchy heart-warming vegetables.
That was yet another one-flame (or pot at least, given the casserole was moved to the oven after meat and veg had browned) dish. I'm becoming increasingly tempted to miss out on cooked starch and rely on good bread (when I can find it), which makes life easy and with tasty loaves makes life more flavorsome.
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