My mother cooked just about everyday, and not once did she cook mutton, lamb or goat anything – not once. Hence, my knowledge of cooking anything that goes 'Meh-eh-heh!' or 'Baa-aaa!' is pretty paltry. I learn on the job which is, if you ask me, a fun way of learning.
I cooked some lamb chops once. Said chops were marinated with pineapple juice, fresh rosemary and salt, then pan-fried till medium-rare. The chops were delicious but I had a small problem. You know how lamb chops have bones that are curved? I couldn't brown the curved part which had no contact with the pan. Lamb chops served in restaurants are completely seared though, as far as I can remember. How do they do it? Grilling or roasting wouldn't work because the meat would be overcooked by the time the bit which curves inward is brown. The only way I can think of is with a blow torch! Or maybe frying with lots of oil, like almost deep-frying?
My second encounter with mutton, lamb or goat anything at home was goat milk. I had two bottles delivered from Hay Dairies because some channel 8 program said goat milk was nicer than cow milk. Hah! Don't believe anything you see on TV! The first mouthful was indeed rich and milky but it was only for a few nanoseconds. The aftertaste hit me in the face with the unmistakable stench that only goats and sheep are capable of. 'Eeeeeeew!'
Hmm, what to do with two big bottles of goat milk less one mouthful? I made some yogurt, thinking the sourness might disguise the goaty smell. Big mistake! Not only was the stench not lessened by the fermentation, it actually became more concentrated. Double 'Eeeeew!'
Last resort: I heated up the remaining milk, poured the whole lot in a plastic basin, and plonked my feet in it! As me poor, weary feet luxuriated in Cleopatra style, I could hear a goat mama somewhere sobbing, 'You rob me of my milk for this?!' I hung my head in shame, and . . . . Hey, my feet are silky smooth!
And then there was the time when I tried my hand at mutton stew (post here). It was delicious, my neighbour said. 'Woooof! Woof! Wooof!' When am I cooking mutton again? That's the neighbour, btw. 'I just did but sorry, you're not getting any this time.'
I hate to disappoint my furry neighbour but the herbal soup with mutton ribs is too good to, um, go to the dogs.