Now comes the thrill of logistics. You realize the lamb is basically a frozen brick. It needs three days in the fridge to defrost.
You clear an entire shelf. You rearrange your yogurts and leftover chow mein around it like worshippers around a temple. Your fridge now hums with anticipation.
Over the next 72 hours, you check on it. You poke it. You whisper, “Soon, my precious. Soon.” Your family thinks you’ve lost it. They’re not wrong.
The Day of Reckoning
Finally, roasting day arrives. You take it out, and it’s no longer a weapon but a beautiful, pale pink muscle. “I will honor you with garlic and rosemary,” you declare.
You stab it with a knife to insert garlic slivers. It feels therapeutic, like revenge on every overpriced chicken breast you’ve ever bought. The kitchen smells like a fancy restaurant.
Your teenager wanders in. “What’s that smell? It’s not burnt toast.” You beam with smug pride. “It’s a half-price leg of lamb, son. Taste the middle class.”
Never Any! Butterflied Lamb Leg | Aldi Reviewer
