
Chef Thomas
A Proper Chicken Broth
Sunday's roast chicken, simmered slowly on Monday with carrots, celery, leeks, and thyme into a bowl of clear, golden broth that smells like the kitchen is paying attention.
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Created by Chef Thomas
Lamb shanks surrendered to red wine and rosemary for three slow hours, until the bone slides clean and the sauce is dark and sticky and worth every minute of the wait.
There's a particular kind of January evening that calls for this. The light gone by four, the kitchen fogged, the sort of cold that sits in your coat even after you've come inside. You want something that's been in the oven for hours, something that fills the house with a smell you can lean into.
Lamb shanks are not a quick dinner. I won't pretend otherwise. But they ask almost nothing of you beyond the first twenty minutes of browning and chopping. After that, the oven does the work while you do whatever you like. Three hours later, you open the door and the meat is falling from the bone, the sauce has gone dark and sticky, and the marrow has melted into everything. The kitchen smells like the kind of evening you'd choose if someone gave you the option.
One shank per person. It looks generous, and it is. Set it on a pile of mash, the buttery, overworked kind that catches the sauce, and pour what's left in the pot over the top. There are few better feelings than putting a plate like this in front of someone on a cold night. The wine, the rosemary, the slow collapse of the meat into something yielding and rich: none of it is difficult. It just takes time, and time is the one ingredient you can't replace with anything else.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: lamb, red wine, rosemary, January. That's all it said. That's all it needed to say.
Quantity
4, about 350-400g each
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
2
halved and sliced
Quantity
2
cut into rough chunks
Quantity
2 sticks
roughly chopped
Quantity
4 cloves
smashed with the flat of a knife
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
3-4 sprigs
Quantity
2
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| lamb shanks | 4, about 350-400g each |
| olive oil | 2 tablespoons |
| onionshalved and sliced | 2 |
| carrotscut into rough chunks | 2 |
| celeryroughly chopped | 2 sticks |
| garlicsmashed with the flat of a knife | 4 cloves |
| tomato purée | 2 tablespoons |
| red wine | 500ml |
| beef or lamb stock | 500ml |
| fresh rosemary | 3-4 sprigs |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
Set the oven to 160C/140C fan. Season the lamb shanks generously with salt and pepper. Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy casserole over a high heat. When the oil shimmers and just begins to smoke, lay the shanks in the pot, two at a time if space is tight. Brown them properly on all sides. This isn't a quick sear. You want deep, dark colour, the kind that smells of roasting meat and caramelised fat. Five or six minutes per batch. Lift them out onto a plate when they're done.
Turn the heat down to medium. In the same pot, with all the sticky, browned bits still on the bottom, add the onions, carrots, and celery. A pinch of salt. Stir them through the fat and cook for eight to ten minutes, until the onions are soft and translucent and the edges of everything are starting to take on a little colour. Add the garlic and the tomato purée, stir it through, and let it cook for another minute or two until the purée darkens and smells sweet rather than sharp.
Pour in the red wine. It will hiss and bubble and lift all those dark, sticky bits off the bottom of the pot. This is what you want. Scrape with a wooden spoon and let the wine simmer for five minutes or so, until it has reduced by roughly half and the raw alcohol smell has given way to something deeper and more rounded. The liquid should look dark, almost syrupy.
Pour in the stock and tuck the rosemary sprigs and bay leaves into the liquid. Nestle the lamb shanks back into the pot, pressing them down so they're mostly submerged. The liquid won't cover them completely. That's fine. Bring everything to a gentle simmer on the hob, then put the lid on and transfer to the oven. Three hours. That's all you need to remember. After that, you're free.
After three hours, take the lid off. The meat should be pulling away from the bone, soft and yielding, the kind of tender where a spoon could do the job of a knife. Carefully lift the shanks out and set them aside, covered loosely. Fish out the rosemary stalks and bay leaves. If the sauce is thin, set the pot on the hob over a medium heat and let it simmer, uncovered, for ten to fifteen minutes until it has reduced to something glossy and dark, with body enough to coat the back of a spoon. Taste it. Season again if it needs it. It probably will.
Make a generous mound of buttery mash on each warm plate. Set a lamb shank on top and spoon the sauce over and around. Be generous with the sauce. It has earned its place. The marrow from the bones will have melted into the braising liquid, giving it a richness that no amount of butter or stock could replicate. Serve with something green on the side if you like, some steamed greens or a simple salad, but honestly, the shank and the mash and the sauce are enough. More than enough.
1 serving (about 400g)
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