I've always believed

that the person running the front of the house plays a major role in a good restaurant experience. But I guess I shouldn't plan on taking the border collies to Grayz.

Wild Child at The River Cafe

The first -- and only -- time I ate at London's River Cafe, I set the carpet on fire. The blaze was small and quickly extinguished by J, and our waiter was lovely about the entire episode, but my heart still pounds when I think about what-might-have-been.

It's just that I'd waited so long to go there, having been enchanted by all the laudatory press and delighted with every recipe I'd tried from the cookbook, that I got a tad over-excited and when one of the pastry chefs set a fresh-from-the-oven lemon tart on the counter of the open kitchen, I jumped up from my seat to get a closer look. Apparently I tossed my napkin onto the little spirit lamp on our table and the fabric instantly ignited. Why didn't I scoop it up and immerse it in my water glass? Who knows? Flinging it onto the floor probably spared the tablecloth but definitely spoiled the carpet.

I cook frequently from all the River Cafe cookbooks, but the first one remains my favorite. As the Bay Area weather gets colder and wetter (Isn't January over YET?) this simple but succulent recipe for lamb shanks never fails to satisfy.

Slow-Cooked Lamb Shanks
(slightly adapated from "The Rogers Gray Italian Country Cookbook" by Ruth Rogers and Rose Gray)

6 small lamb shanks
flour for dusting
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablesppons olive oi
6 red onions, peeled and sliced fine
1 handful chopped fresh rosemary leaves
4 garlic cloves, peeled and choppe
3/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1 + 1/4 cups red wine

Preheat the oven to 300-degrees.
Dust the lamb shanks with seasoned flour.

In a heavy-bottomed pan with a lid, heat the oil and brown the shanks on all sides, then remove. Lower the heat heat, add the onions, and cook for about 10-15 minutes, until light brown. Add the rosemary and garlic and cook for another couple of minutes. Raise the heat and add the balsamic vinegar and the wine. Reduce for a couple of minutes.
Return the shanks to the pan, reduce the heat and cover with a piece of moistened parchment paper and the lid. Place in the oven, lower the heat to 275 or even 250 and cook until the meat is very tender -- start checking after two hours, but I usually find it requires *at least* two and a half hours at this temperature.

While they cook, check the shanks from time to time, basting with the juices or adding more wine if they look too dry. Serve whole, with the onion strands and pan juices.

Here's what remained from tonight's dinner:

Although these look as if a famished Henry VIII had attacked them, they still had enough lamby flavor to thrill the resident Border Collies.

World's Greatest Pot Roast

The dish J. and I call World's Greatest Pot Roast isn't a pot roast at all. More accurately it is my candidate for the World's Easiest Short Ribs, but the recipe started as one for pot roast and then morphed into the meat and method I use today.
Years ago I read a few lines in Laurie Colwin's "More Home Cooking" about chuck steak -- the preferred pot roast cut in my mother's and grandmother's kitchens. I remembered their fussing with carrots and onions and a bay leaf or two, but Colwin was saying I had no need for all that: "Get a large very thick chuck steak from the butcher," she wrote. "Take this steak and put it into a large baking dish. Season it with salt and pepper and cover it very tightly with tin foil. Stick it in a 275-degree oven and leave it for six hours."
So I did, and it was good. And God knows it was easy. But as the years went by and beef got younger and leaner, the once reliably streaky chuck roasts no longer seemed as succulent, no matter how low-and-slow they cooked. J. and I began fork-dueling for the meat closest to the bone, relegating the rest to unloved leftovers.
Then one day I spotted some beautifully marbled, thick English short ribs at the butchers' counter and decided to cook them via Colwin's method.

I found they didn't need six hours--more like three to four. But oh, sweet memories of childhood, this was marvelous meat, needing only a few spoonfuls of the pan juice, a generous lashing of chopped parsley and a side dish of creamy horseradish. Usually I accompany it with a salad of sliced radicchio dressed with olive oil, red wine vinegar and crumbled blue cheese or feta.
In summary: Make sure the short ribs are at least two-inches thick. Brush a heavy baking dish with olive oil, nestle in the ribs in a single layer, sprinkle on generous amounts of salt and pepper and cover the dish *tightly* with foil. Place in a 275-degree oven. (Make sure your oven doesn't run hot; many self-cleaning ones do.)
Start checking them after two hours or so, but there is absolutely no need to baste. If I start these early enough in the day, I usually reduce the heat to 250-degrees after the first hour, as I think slower and longer gives a better result. After the initial check-in, I peek at them every half hour or so, stabbing a piece with a sharp fork. They should be almost-falling-off-the-bone tender, but not mushy. I never try to have these finish precisely at dinner time, but aim for at least an hour ahead and then re-heat them just before serving.

This is a dish I make only when the weather turns cooler. Because each portion includes three chunky bones, our Border Collies enthusiastically endorse its return to the repertoire.