Last year I made M.L.T.s (Mutton Lettuce and Tomato Sandwiches) with our leftover Easter lamb. I did this for two reasons: 1) I always wanted to make this since seeing The Princess Bride in the theater and hearing Miracle Max talk about how M.L.T.s are the greatest thing in the world, and 2) Actually I lied. That was the only reason.
I wanted to do this again this year since, apparently, this is a new tradition akin to hot turkey sandwiches after Thanksgiving.
This year I sliced up the roast lamb and served it on rosemary bread with mayonnaise, fresh rosemary, sliced tomato, spring greens, and rendered bacon. I drizzled some of the rendered bacon fat over the top and served it with some julienned Yukon Gold potato fries.
My parents, when coming to visit for Easter, had come not only with wine and scalloped potatoes but with a variety pack of Belgian ales from Van Steenberge. This is because my parents are the best parents.
The beers are advertised as "living beers" which means nothing more than that they are bottled with additional yeast and sugar in the bottle before final packaging. I didn't really understand why that was such a big deal.
I decided to go with the Augustijin because it was somewhere in the middle of the pack for alcohol percentage at about 8%. It also helped that it looked like it could be the name of a villain that might battle Goku.
The beer, as you can see, was a bit foamy. I poured this one quite carefully but it was still not really drinkable. I decided to eat my dinner while the foam subsided.
After seven minutes the foam had subsided but not really as much as I'd hoped. I decided to just drink anyway and deal with a foam-covered nose. The Augustijin was very good.
I now have a finer appreciation for the term 'living beer.'
For dessert I served up some of the leftover lemon curd from Easter's pavlova with the remaining crushed pavlova crumbs, yogurt, and blueberries. As far as desserts go this was somewhat healthy. Besides we had a very small portion because somehow we were full.
I blame it on the gas that had been pumped into our bellies courtesy of some sneaky Belgian monks.