By John Kass

May 12, 2024

This is not science but art. That is the secret, and throw in the breeze, the morning temperature, the feel of the lamb as you take it from the cooler.

The density of the cool meat. The ancient promise of the coals over a spit, as old as civilization itself.

My sons know the secret. They learned it over the years from watching me on such cooks that you have read about in my news column.

But this wasn’t my lamb. This belonged to my sons. This was their lamb for Easter Sunday. Christos Anesti!

They didn’t look for a formula, or measure by narrow numbers the coals in this final picture. There is no abacus, there are no computers to count coals. There were far fewer coals—three or four handfuls of lump charcoal–at the beginning of this seven-hour cook. Yes, seven hours.

When I first started cooking with live coals, I used too many. There was too much heat. Then, later, there wasn’t enough heat. There weren’t enough coals.

Listen so you will see.

As I said in the beginning, this is art, not science, tracing back through time, to the Mycenaean Civilization and the blind poet Homer, the father of all literature.

Homer spoke of the great but somewhat cowardly Agamemnon, who sacrificed his daughter at the edge of the wine dark sea. And he talked of fat lambs and the offering of the tasty morsels to the gods, with the man of wrath, the King of Ithaca, Odysseus drinking and talking around fires on the shores of Troy.

Uncle Pete is my brother, no god he.

But he is a good man, one of the best men, a man of honor. And so my sons offered him some tasty pieces and the lemony skin as you will see if you click right here:

Theo Pete heroically grabs a taste.

As difficult as it sounds, life is not just a baby spring lamb. Life can be found in vegetarian food. And don’t call me a commie, or I’ll find you.

We don’t much like commies. My family fought the communists in the mountains in the old country. My father and Uncle George and other young men from the village would hide from the communists under the backyard oven when the KKE went recruiting with guns. But Arakas (peas) and artichokes have no politics. They’re perfect as a side dish.

Betty makes it for me. And she’s no commie. She’s not even a Democrat, which is the last stage before they turn on you. But she loves me. After 38 years now, I think she’ll keep me. And she loves Arakas.

Here is her recipe for peas and artichokes

Ingredients: 2 cans quartered artichokes/ 3 small bags of frozen peas/1 medium onion chopped/1 cup fresh dill minced

1 15oz.  can chicken broth/ one 28 oz. can crushed tomato/ 2-3 cloves garlic minced/ salt pepper to taste

Directions: Sweat onion in a large pot with olive oil until translucent. Add artichokes into pot and warm them in pot. Add garlic and cook for 1 minute. Add fresh dill, tomatoes,  chicken broth and 1 cup of water. Simmer for ten minutes to let the flavors blend. Add frozen peas and let simmer another 15 minutes. Stirring occasionally. Serves 8-10

Another of the genius accompaniments is Muthawama, also known throughout the Middle East as Toum. Yes, I am indeed quite ecumenical. We get a large tray from Al Bawadi in Bridgeview.

What is Muthwama? Garlic, olive oil, fresh lemon juice and salt. Perfect on top of braised rice as another side for your delicious spit roasted lamb.

 

Delicious.

Grill some pita bread, and grill some onion halves, too while you’re at it. Add some sliced onions or green onions and fresh roasted lamb (if Theo Pete leaves you any) and that’s a meal in itself.

My brothers and I share appreciation for great food. Below is a photograph from an Easter Sunday several years ago. I was the short fat guy in the middle. From left: Man of honor Theo Pete, me and man of honor Theo Nick.  We learned from a great lamb master, our father.

The lamb was innocent. Aren’t they all?

 

 

Did Greeks invent this artform or was it shaped by the sands of time, near the Tigris–Euphrates river system where agriculture and civilization began before Greeks invented it?

I won’t argue whether the Greeks or the Persians did it.  Spartan King Leonidas pressed his claim on the bodies of tens of thousands of Persians; and Alexander the Great conquered the world and what is modern day Iraq and Iran. But let’s not brag about which culture was sensitive to the art of spit roasting lamb. Let’s just sit down and fire up some Outlaw Country tunes and crack open some cold beers.

And for leftovers, grab some cold lamb sanguiches with mustard and slices of raw onion. Yeah baby.

First, you need a whole lamb. Get it at the butcher shop and ask them to fix the whole lamb it to the spit. I use a spit with u-shaped clamps that come up from under the spine, around the spit, tightened down with wing nuts and plates. You don’t want the lamb to wobble.

DON’T FORGET THE COTTER PINS!!

Keep the lamb cool overnight, in a basement, in a restaurant cooler if you have restaurant friends, then on Easter Sunday morning, around dawn, begin to prepare. We kept our last lamb this past Sunday in the garage, on bags of ice. It’ll take about four-five hours to get to room temperature. Remember, seven hours.

Betty reminded me to remind you not to forget slivers  of garlic inserted in the lamb. She did not ask me to remind you that you’ll need plenty of ouzo over ice, for the cooks. And you’ll need lamb–preferably from your neighbor’s farm if you live in Green Acres, or from Colorado. Avoid gamy New Zealand lamb. Oh, and fresh lemon juice, fine olive oil, fresh cracked pepper and Kosher salt.

There’s a lot to think about, yes.

If you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know how much fire to use, if you don’t know how to slice it off the spit, you might have problems. Especially your brothers do what brothers do and try picking at the tasty crispy skin. And if you’ve always wanted to serve roast lamb at your backyard barbecue, but you know that no matter how many lamb roast youtube videos you bingewatch, you just won’t get it in time.

But there is one thing you can do:

Call my two sons.

Call Spiro and Peter. Ask them. See if they’re free. Don’t ask me. I’ve got columns to write.

The boys really know what they’re doing. They’re good men. I’m proud of them. Betty is proud of them. Their grandfather would be so proud of them, too. That was the tastiest lamb I’ve ever had.

It’s not science. It’s art.

And it is ancient as civilization itself.

 

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About the author: John Kass spent decades as a political writer and news columnist in Chicago working at a major metropolitan newspaper. He is co-host of The Chicago Way podcast. And he just loves his “No Chumbolone” hat, because johnkassnews.com is a “No Chumbolone” Zone where you can always get a cup of common sense.