Recipes

The winter soup that makes its own stock

This is the old way of making soup, and it's still the best way. You don't need a carton of stock doing all the heavy lifting — the bones in four forequarter chops build the broth themselves, the way it was done before stock came in cartons. The chops simmer whole among the barley and vegetables for a lazy hour and a half, then the meat gets shredded off the bone and stirred back through. What you end up with is a pot of deeply savoury, faintly sweet lamb broth with plump barley and enough body to call itself dinner.

The juiciest burger you'll make — and it isn't beef

So here's my honest position: lamb makes a juicier burger than beef. The extra richness in lamb mince means the patty bastes itself as it cooks — no dry pucks, no tricks. Fold crumbled feta through the mixture so it melts into little salty pockets, swap the mayo for cool mint yoghurt, and pile it all into a toasted bun with rocket and tomato. Four proper burgers from one 480g pack, and the only patience required is the fifteen-minute chill that keeps them together on the pan.

The barbecue dinner that doesn't care what season it is

Cold potato salad has its place — Boxing Day, mostly. But toss just-boiled potatoes through a mustardy dressing while they're still steaming and something better happens: they drink it in, every waxy little half seasoned to the centre instead of just coated. That's the bed for these chops. The barbecue does what it does best — crisped fat edge, charred faces, pink at the bone — and the resting juices run straight into the salad, which is not an accident. Warm, sharp, smoky and honest. It works in January and it works in July.

Lamb, potato, onion and patience — the stew that proves restraint is a skill

The original Irish stew had three ingredients and a fierce loyalty to all of them: bone-in forequarter or neck chops, potatoes, and onions, layered in a pot and left entirely alone. No browning, no wine, no clever additions — the courage of this dish is in what it leaves out. The bones make the broth, the bottom layer of potatoes melts into it as a thickener, and the top layer steams whole. Two hours later you ladle out something so much greater than its parts that you'll understand why the Irish never let anyone improve it.

Bistro looks from the standard four-pack

You know that rack of lamb with the green herb crust — the one restaurants charge like a wounded bull for? A cutlet is that rack, already cut into portions. So we borrow the whole trick: a quick sear, a brush of Dijon, a press of herby golden crumbs, then a short blast in a hot oven. The mustard glues the crust on and sharpens the lamb underneath, and the crumbs shatter when your knife goes through. It takes thirty-five minutes and looks like you trained for it. Four cutlets, two plates, one very good midweek dinner.

Forty dumplings from one pack — future-you says thank you

Lamb and cumin is one of the great pairings of northern Chinese cooking, and dumplings are its happiest form. This is a Sunday-afternoon project in the best sense: put some music on, rope in the kids for folding duty, and one 480g pack of lamb mince becomes about forty potstickers — crisp golden bottoms, juicy middles, and a soy-and-vinegar sauce for dunking. Cook a panful tonight and freeze the rest raw, straight on the tray. A fortnight from now, dinner takes twelve minutes and no thinking at all.

The little T-bones of lamb, done exactly the way the Sunday table remembers

Loin chops, peas, mash and a jug of proper mint sauce — some dinners don't need reinventing. Loin chops are the little T-bones of lamb: a nugget of loin one side of the bone, a scrap of tenderloin on the other, and they cook faster than the potatoes do. And real mint sauce isn't a project — it's chopped mint, sugar and vinegar stirred together in five minutes, and it runs rings around anything from a jar. Twenty-eight minutes, start to plate, and most of that is the spuds.

The taverna's favourite cheap chop, done the taverna way

Walk into a family-run taverna anywhere in Greece and the lamb on the grill is rarely the fancy cut — it's the big, flavour-rich shoulder chop, rubbed with oregano and lemon and cooked over real heat until the edges char. That's exactly what the forequarter chops in your share were made for. Twenty minutes in a quick marinade while you build a proper village salad — tomatoes, cucumber, olives and a slab of feta, not a lettuce leaf in sight — then a hot grill pan does the rest. Summer dinner, no matter the month.

The golden crumb every Australian kitchen used to know by heart

There's a fair chance crumbed cutlets were the first lamb you ever ate. Flour, egg, breadcrumbs, a pan of oil — the crumbing line hasn't changed in three generations, because it doesn't need to. The crumb fries up deep golden and craggy, the lamb inside stays sweet and pink, and the whole thing is on the table in twenty-five minutes. Four cutlets feeds two of you properly, with peas and mash doing what peas and mash have always done. Some dinners don't need reinventing. This is one of them.