Nourished

Rain speckled the sky and gently tapped and pecked across the brim of my cap. I pulled my coat tight across my shoulders in an effort to seal myself off from the chill of the wind. A basket, carrying a small sack of flower and a full jar of milk, swung recklessly from the crook of my arm as I ran.

“You’ll end up with a mouth full of mud running like that, laddie,” ol’ greasy Barney yelled from his stoop after he took another long drag from his cigarette. His tiny flock of unsheared sheep called out in surprise as I darted between them. I then popped up and over the short stone wall that cut a gray rectangle around Barney’s property as the lambs baaed me farewell.

From there, it was a straight shot home across a dirt road sandwiched between fields so green and lush the sea itself would be jealous of their vastness and pigment. I suppose that’s the one good thing that comes from all this bloody rain. And there, like a white stone set against a sage meadow, sat my home. Home is a peculiar thing--your first home, I suppose. As a child, you're callous to its grandeur, or lack thereof. A child born and raised on the coast of Maui has no concept of his fortune--just as a child born in a struggling village of Africa knows not what they lack. It is not until we grow and learn and see and touch and taste what the outside world has to offer that we begin to understand, and maybe appreciate, our childhood home. For me, there has never been a finer home than that wee white house hidden in the countryside of Northern Ireland.

There are a few things, no matter where I find myself in the world, that transport me back to that brick house with its cherry red door. The sound of geese calling from a still pond. The whistle of an iron kettle with a burnt bottom. The touch of dense clovers beneath my bare feet. But, the most memory-inducing is that of Irish stew and scone.

I kicked off my boots that were caked thick in mud, then hurried in through the red door. The aroma of the stew swept over me like a summer breeze carrying salt and rosemary. I truly can’t explain what happens to lamb when it's simmered in broth, swimming with potatoes and onions, but it’s undeniably the work of the good Lord.

“Now, I have to say, you fetched that in record time,” my grandmother said with a jubilant grin as she gladly took the basket from me. I did pride myself in being the fastest ten-year old in all of the North. That claim of course had never been proven, but it also had never been disproven, so I still stand by it to this day. “What are you standing there for? Go on, wash those mitts so you can help me make this scone,” she said while she placed the flour and milk I had fetched beside the other ingredients already waiting on the counter.

“Yes, gran.”

Everyone wants to leave their little town. Everyone hopes and prays they were made for something greater than what they were born into. But now, out on my own, very, very far from that little kitchen, every time I taste a lamb stew or smear butter across scone, I think I would trade just about anything to be on a rickety stool across from my grandmother. To listen to her hum as she folded flour into butter, all while the rainfall tapped and pecked at the windows of that old white house.

I hope whatever you make this fall, you choose something that transports you to a simpler time that makes you feel at home and nourishes your soul.

1 1/2 pounds boneless lamb (from shoulder or neck) cut into bite-sized pieces

1 tablespoon oil or lard for frying

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

2 large carrots , peeled and cut into 1/2 inch chunks

2 ribs celery , sliced

1 medium yellow onion , chopped

1 parsnip (or turnip or rutabaga), diced

2 pounds starchy potatoes (e.g. Russets) , peeled and cut into 1 inch pieces

3 cups quality beef broth

1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 bay leaf

3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley plus extra for garnish

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees F.

Heat some oil in a large pan and generously brown the lamb on all sides.

In the same skillet, melt the butter and add the flour. Whisk together to combine and continue whisking for a few minutes or until the mixture turns a rich brown color. Add the broth, whisking continually. Simmer until slightly thickened.

In a heavy stock pot or Dutch oven melt another tablespoon or two of butter over medium-high heat and add the vegetables except for the potatoes. Cook until starting to soften, about 5 minutes. Add the browned lamb, potatoes, parsley, bay leaf, salt and pepper. Pour in the beef broth and stir to combine.

Place the pot on the middle rack of the oven and cook, covered, for 2 1/2 to 3 hours or until the meat is very tender.

Serve with scone or sourdough and heaps and heaps of butter.