By Holy Week. Las Cruces is too far for an Easter visit this year — Diego has a doubleheader for spring scrimmages on Saturday, Sofia has a meet on Friday, the twins have an Easter egg hunt at the parish on Sunday morning — so we did Easter in Denver, which means I drove to four different stores to assemble the kind of lamb shoulder roast that you can usually only get in Albuquerque without three days of advance notice. I called Mamá Wednesday night to confirm her recipe. She walked me through it again the way she has walked me through it every Easter for thirty years, as if I had never made it before, as if she had never given me the recipe before, as if the world were brand new every year. This is a thing she does, and I have come to understand it not as forgetfulness but as her way of being involved. The recipe is a vehicle for the conversation. The conversation is the point.
Holy Thursday Lisa took the twins to Mass at our parish in south Denver. I was at school. We have a tradition where Lisa takes the kids to Holy Thursday and I take the kids to Good Friday, because the football schedule will not allow me to make both, and we have agreed that the kids should have a parent at each. Sofia has aged out of being taken — she goes on her own now, or does not, depending on her week — and Diego has aged out of being taken in the sense that he is now genuinely participating, which is its own version. Holy Thursday is the most beautiful Mass of the year. The washing of the feet. The procession to the altar of repose. The stripping of the altar. The silence afterward. The twins behaved. Lisa sent me a photo of them in the pew, and Elena was holding Marco's hand, and they both looked tired and content, and I will keep that photo for the rest of my life.
Good Friday I went with Diego at noon. We stood in the back. The Veneration of the Cross is the part that gets me. It always has. The line of people walking up to kiss the wood. There is something about it that is so old, so corporeal, so unembarrassed about the fact that we are bodies, that we believe with our bodies, that we kiss things to mean that we love them. Diego went up. I went up. We did not talk about it. We just did it. On the drive home he said, "Dad, do you ever think about how strange that is — kissing the cross." I said, "I think it is strange. And I think it is the right kind of strange. Worth doing." He said, "Yeah." We did not say more. He understands. He always has.
Saturday was a brutal day — Sofia's meet in the morning, Diego's spring scrimmages in the afternoon, twins' soccer in between. Lisa and I ran an operation that I have run before but never with such tight margins. I was at the field by seven for the morning practice run-through. Sofia's race was at ten. Twins' soccer at noon. Diego's scrimmages from one to four. Easter prep had to happen in the gaps. I had pre-seasoned the lamb shoulder Friday night. Saturday morning Lisa stuck it in the oven at three-fifty in a covered dutch oven, low and slow. By the time I got home from Diego's scrimmages at four-fifteen, the lamb was falling off the bone, the smell was filling the house, and I had ninety minutes to finish the sides — pinto beans, chile-roasted potatoes, a green salad, Mamá's posole on the side because lamb without posole on the table is, in her view, a moral lapse.
Easter Sunday morning. Eight a.m. Mass. The whole family. Sofia in a dress for the first time in maybe four months. Diego in a button-down. The twins in matching outfits because Lisa cannot resist matching outfits. We sat in the third row. The choir was good this year. The deacon's homily was about the women at the tomb being the first witnesses to the resurrection — that the church was founded on women's testimony, on the willingness to believe what they had seen. The deacon is a Black guy named Earl who has been at our parish for ten years, and he is the best preacher I have heard in any Catholic parish in any city, and Lisa and I have agreed that we will follow him to whatever parish he ends up at next.
After Mass, the parish egg hunt. The twins ran. Marco found seventeen eggs. Elena found eleven but had a more sophisticated system. They split. We came home. The lamb came out of the oven. I pulled the meat from the bone and shredded it. The smell was unbelievable. Mamá called at noon. The conversation was about ten minutes long. She said, "M'ijo, did you make the lamb." I said, "I did." She said, "Did you cover it." I said, "I covered it." She said, "Did you let it rest before you shredded it." I said, "I let it rest." She said, "Good. I have one more thing. Did you save the bone for the pinto beans." I said, "Mamá, I did not save the bone." She said, "Carlos." I said, "I will save it next year." She said, "Save it now. Put it in the freezer. Use it in October when you make beans for the Halloween party." I said, "Yes, ma'am." She said, "Te amo, m'ijo. Cristo ha resucitado." I said, "Verdaderamente ha resucitado." We hung up. I put the lamb bone in the freezer. I am keeping the bone.
The seven of us — me, Lisa, Diego, Sofia, the twins, and Hayley, who came over for Easter dinner — sat at the table at three-thirty and ate. The lamb was perfect. The posole was Mamá-approved. Diego said grace. He said something I had not heard him say before. He thanked God for the people at the table. Each by name. Mom, Dad, Sofia, Marco, Elena, Hayley. He thanked God for his Tía Marisol and his cousin Alex in Las Cruces. He thanked God for his grandparents. He thanked God for Tío Ruben, "who is at a different table today." He paused. He said amen. Lisa was crying quietly. So was I. Hayley did not know what was happening exactly but she had the grace to look at her plate. Sofia held my hand under the table. The twins ate. The lamb was the best I have ever made it. He has resurrected. Truly he has resurrected.
This is the lamb shoulder Mamá has been walking me through for thirty years — and the one I finally made right in Denver, four stores later, on a Saturday squeezed between Sofia’s meet and Diego’s scrimmages. It goes into the dutch oven Friday night seasoned, into the oven Saturday morning at three-fifty, and by the time you get home from wherever life has taken you, it is already done. The recipe is simple. That is the whole point of it.
Family Feast Slow-Roasted Lamb Shoulder
Prep Time: 20 min (plus overnight seasoning) | Cook Time: 4 hours 30 min | Total Time: 4 hours 50 min | Servings: 7–8
Ingredients
- 4 to 5 lb bone-in lamb shoulder
- 6 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 teaspoons kosher salt
- 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 2 teaspoons ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano
- 1 teaspoon ancho chile powder
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 medium white onion, roughly chopped
- 4 sprigs fresh rosemary
- 1 cup low-sodium chicken or lamb broth
- 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
Instructions
- Season overnight. Combine garlic, salt, pepper, cumin, oregano, ancho chile powder, smoked paprika, and olive oil into a paste. Score the lamb shoulder all over with a paring knife, making 1-inch slits. Rub the paste into every surface and into the slits. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight, or at least 8 hours.
- Prepare the pot. When ready to cook, remove the lamb from the refrigerator and let it sit at room temperature for 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Scatter the chopped onion across the bottom of a large dutch oven or heavy covered roasting pan. Lay the rosemary sprigs over the onion.
- Add liquid and cover. Set the seasoned lamb shoulder on top of the onion and rosemary. Pour the broth and apple cider vinegar around (not over) the lamb. Cover tightly with the lid or with two layers of heavy-duty foil.
- Roast low and slow. Cook covered at 350°F for 4 hours to 4 hours 30 minutes, until the meat is completely tender and pulling away from the bone. Do not lift the lid during the first 3 hours.
- Rest before shredding. Remove from the oven and let the lamb rest, still covered, for at least 20 minutes. Then pull the meat from the bone using two forks or your hands. It will shred easily. Reserve the bone — wrap it and freeze it for pinto beans later.
- Finish and serve. Skim excess fat from the braising liquid and spoon some over the shredded meat to keep it moist. Taste and adjust salt. Serve with pinto beans, chile-roasted potatoes, posole, and whatever else your family needs on the table.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 410 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 27g | Carbs: 3g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 490mg