Lamb, Prince of Chops

Grilled lamb chops with fig glaze

Currently in progress at the Twisty Morsel Institute is a dissertation arguing that the grilled lamb chop tops the list of the best chops–nay, the best foods–ever invented, and yes, I include on that list both the taco al pastor and–after no trivial deliberations–Cool Whip.

Lamb is one of the few remaining meats that declines to grovel before the modern American anxiety over anything that doesn’t taste like chicken, and when I say "chicken" I mean "crap." Lamb has depth. It has integrity. It has fat. After you’ve polished off a couple of chops, no one can tell you you haven’t had dinner, and if they do, you can tell them from me that their pants make them look fat.

Here’s what you do: brush a lamb chop with a sauce the inspiration for which  you’ve drawn from turn-of-the-century French piano music. Add the capricious sorceries of wood smoke. And for the love-a-god, open a bottle of Lewelling cab.

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