A Truly Anti Meal
So. I've had it in my mind for a while to make my own gyros.
I love gyros. My wife loves gyros. Bird can eat cereal.
Thing is I have never had a "real" gyro in that I always order the chicken and not the lamb. My wife always eats the lamb and never the chicken.
Apparently gyros should be made with lamb, so obviously, I want to make them with lamb.
But
I'm aprehensive.
I can't even imagine ordering lamb when someone who actually knows what they are doing can make it for me. And I refuse to make anything but the lamb because anything worth doing is worth doing right.
Or so I've heard.
So I wait and wait and wait
::: and then :::
Bird goes on vacation to KC with her dad.
Seems like opportunity knocking. If it's nasty, we won't have to worry about being bad examples when we gag and make vomit noises like she does when she tries to eat mashed potatoes.
Yes, it is high time I called our butcher and ordered some lamb. Because I want gyros dammit.
"Okay. What kind of cut do you need?" he asks.
(Shit) "I don't know, what are my options?"
His response sounds as sure as my question. "I can get you a leg of lamb."
"Yes, a leg of lamb. I'll take a leg of lamb."
"How big a leg?"
What is this, 20 questions? "I don't know, just a small little leg. The smallest, littlest leg you can find."
I hang up.
A few days later our butcher calls.
"Your leg is ready."
Oh great!, I think.
"Oh shit!" Ams says, "somewhere a little lamb is wandering around without one of its little legs!"
Damn. This better be good.
When I get home, I unwrap my little leg, and am grateful it doesn't actually look like a leg. Or a lamb.
I cover it with a marinade and season the shit out of it, just as The Grand Master himself
suggested.
I throw it in the fridge and try and forget what exactly it is.
Yes! Soon we will be enjoying yummy lamb gyros and there will be no mention of little 3 legged lambs, limping aimlessly around
thanks to me.
I make what turned out to be a really kick ass tzatziki sauce and fire up the shiny new grill
My thoroughly marinated and generously seasoned leg of lamb
begins to cook.
We wait anxiously,
in anticipation,
refusing to think about the poor little lamb with the missing little leg
The thermometer registers "done", and I think "what now?".
My wife gets out the 1970's electric knife we use only at Thanksgiving.
"Is that really necessary?"
She smiles wickedly, and begins to slice off thin little slivers of meat, from the little lambie leg.
All I can do is watch, and thank God there is no blood.
Finally She carries a plate of sliced leg of lamb to the table.
"Lets eat!" She announces.
We pile place a small amount of the sliced lamb leg on fresh round pillowy pitas and slop on a good dose (or three) of tzatziki.
A little feta cheese for me. Some chopped tomato for Her.
I taste, waiting for the
and watch my wife, to see if She experiences the
.
Not only is there no
,
by the looks on our faces, we have clearly just wasted perfectly good pita, and crippled a poor innocent little lamb
for nothing.
"My experiment with lamb is over!" I announce.
A sigh of relief sneaks off Her lips. "Raisin Bran or Kix?" She replies.
I love gyros. My wife loves gyros. Bird can eat cereal.
Thing is I have never had a "real" gyro in that I always order the chicken and not the lamb. My wife always eats the lamb and never the chicken.
Apparently gyros should be made with lamb, so obviously, I want to make them with lamb.
But
I'm aprehensive.
I can't even imagine ordering lamb when someone who actually knows what they are doing can make it for me. And I refuse to make anything but the lamb because anything worth doing is worth doing right.
Or so I've heard.
So I wait and wait and wait
::: and then :::
Bird goes on vacation to KC with her dad.
Seems like opportunity knocking. If it's nasty, we won't have to worry about being bad examples when we gag and make vomit noises like she does when she tries to eat mashed potatoes.
Yes, it is high time I called our butcher and ordered some lamb. Because I want gyros dammit.
"Okay. What kind of cut do you need?" he asks.
(Shit) "I don't know, what are my options?"
His response sounds as sure as my question. "I can get you a leg of lamb."
"Yes, a leg of lamb. I'll take a leg of lamb."
"How big a leg?"
What is this, 20 questions? "I don't know, just a small little leg. The smallest, littlest leg you can find."
I hang up.
A few days later our butcher calls.
"Your leg is ready."
Oh great!, I think.
"Oh shit!" Ams says, "somewhere a little lamb is wandering around without one of its little legs!"
Damn. This better be good.
When I get home, I unwrap my little leg, and am grateful it doesn't actually look like a leg. Or a lamb.
I cover it with a marinade and season the shit out of it, just as The Grand Master himself
suggested.
I throw it in the fridge and try and forget what exactly it is.
Yes! Soon we will be enjoying yummy lamb gyros and there will be no mention of little 3 legged lambs, limping aimlessly around
thanks to me.
I make what turned out to be a really kick ass tzatziki sauce and fire up the shiny new grill
My thoroughly marinated and generously seasoned leg of lamb
begins to cook.
We wait anxiously,
in anticipation,
refusing to think about the poor little lamb with the missing little leg
The thermometer registers "done", and I think "what now?".
My wife gets out the 1970's electric knife we use only at Thanksgiving.
"Is that really necessary?"
She smiles wickedly, and begins to slice off thin little slivers of meat, from the little lambie leg.
All I can do is watch, and thank God there is no blood.
Finally She carries a plate of sliced leg of lamb to the table.
"Lets eat!" She announces.
We pile place a small amount of the sliced lamb leg on fresh round pillowy pitas and slop on a good dose (or three) of tzatziki.
A little feta cheese for me. Some chopped tomato for Her.
I taste, waiting for the
and watch my wife, to see if She experiences the
.
Not only is there no
,
by the looks on our faces, we have clearly just wasted perfectly good pita, and crippled a poor innocent little lamb
for nothing.
"My experiment with lamb is over!" I announce.
A sigh of relief sneaks off Her lips. "Raisin Bran or Kix?" She replies.