The Alton Crown Affair - Recap

Alton opens in a lavish home, with coins spread across the table. Before him rests a serving platter capped by a jeweled dome, and to one side of it, within easy reach, sits a jeweled goblet. Within the dome rests an entry that “sups the light fantastic.” It is crown roast of lamb, and with a little science, some properly selected ingredients, and a gadget or two, Alton intends to show how to make it... Good Eats!

In a forest, Alton discusses early history. Man had little to eat and no friends. Eventually, he domesticated the dog, man's first friend. The dog helped man learn to hunt, and expanded his food choices. But hunting was a lot of work, and so man learned to bring the animals to him – to herd. And that started (says Nutritional Anthropologist Deb Duchon) with sheep. They were the first domesticated food animal – six thousand years or so ago, in Persia. Alton, vexed, is sure he never said “nutritional anthropologist” but Deb claims he did.

Sheep were extremely important, then, as sources of both meat and wool. They even figured into religious ceremonies. But Americans eat very little sheep – something less than a pound per person, per year! That's due in part to various forms of bad publicity the animal has received over the years, ranging from attempts by the British crown to control production in the seventeenth century, to range wars of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. On top of that, six thousand years of domestication has made the animal dumber and changed its appearance.

Over at his life-sized cow model (hey, he's on a budget), Alton pulls off the back to explain that on a sheep, the loin comes from the same place it does on a cow – the back, next to the ribs and between ribs five and twelve. For a crown rack, Alton will need two such loins, ideally matched (getting them from the same animal helps). He notes in passing that if the paired loins are joined by the backbone the primal is called a “hotel rack.” Such large cuts require a bandsaw in the hands of a butcher. Fortunately, Alton knows one: Richard Sieber.

At the shop, Alton shows how butcher Richard Sieber takes the front part of the sheep (legs already removed) and cuts off the shoulder and belly sections. That done, he cuts off the tenderloins (counting the ribs to ensure he's got the right number), and splits the hotel rack down the middle. That leaves only the chine bones, which he removes with another pass of the saw. On an X-Ray, Alton shows the small chine bones sticking off the end of the rack. If left attached, they make carving the rack complicated. Finally, there's Frenching. This is the process of removing most of the side meat from the ribs, leaving clean arcs of bone exposed and leaving the ribeye meat intact. A butcher may do that job; prefers to do it himself, but those lacking the experience or inclination may certainly have their butcher do it.

Grass-fed New Zealand lamb is the emerging standard, with Australian lamb a close second. People like this meat because it is so tender; but Alton prefers American lamb, which tends to yield bigger racks, has not been frozen, and is often a little older and therefore more flavorful (aging is crucial to producing good flavor).

The USDA Men-in-Black appear and explain that the USDA inspects all lamb found domestically or overseas, and that many states have even higher standards. Grading is voluntary; the packer must pay for it if he wants it, and grades range from prime all the way down to grades like utility, used only in some processed meats and pet food. Many packers treat their sheep with hormones designed to increase their weight quickly (decreasing their time to market); such hormones have been implicated in some diseases (such as breast cancer). If that's a concern, keep an eye out for hormone free lamb. Butchers can usually obtain it, or there are Internet sites that sell it.

Back in his kitchen, Alton faces a rack of ribs. Most rib recipes (including crown roast) require Frenching the ribs, a process that removes some of the meat. For those who elected not to have the butcher handle this, Alton demonstrates a procedure that he believes most cooks can perform in three or four minutes (per rack) with some practice. Alton's rack is American lamb – he can tell because there is a layer of fat still attached to the outside. New Zealand lamb must be shipped long distances; packers usually remove the extra fat to lighten the product and thereby reduce shipping costs. The curve of the rib faces the baking sheet. Alton starts by removing the top layer of fat by hand, using a knife only where necessary to cut the connective tissue. There's meat mixed in that, so Alton saves it for a stew. With a very sharp knife, he removes a crescent shaped piece of cartilage that attaches to the shoulder bone. Next, he cuts across the rack about two and half inches from the rib bone, pushing the knife completely through. He cuts between each rib to split the membrane, and then turns the rack over and makes the same cuts on the other side. The separates the meat at each rib. Done correctly, the meat comes right off the last two inches or so of the rib. That meat, too, can go into an eventual stew pot.

With most of the meat removed, Alton comes to the actual “Frenching” part. This removes the remaining connective tissue, fat, and meat from the exposed rib. To do it, Alton loosely strings a cord into the two holes of a standard drawer handle – both items available at the hardware store. Positioning the rack with the ribs curving upwards, Alton slides the cord to the point where the rib enters the meat and gives it a few twists to tighten it around the rib. When the slides it along the rib to the end, the arrangement neatly removes the remaining material from the rib, leaving it clean.

Alton slides his rib rack into the refrigerator while he considers additional flavors. He wants to put it in uncovered, so that it will dry a bit. That will help him later, but it means he has to find a shelf unoccupied by other foods (especially ready to eat foods like apples) to minimize the risk of cross contamination. Finding such a place, he slides the rack in and pulls out some Dijon mustard and some herbs: thyme, rosemary. And a sandwich?

Alton acknowledges that rack of lamb is plenty tasty already, but suggests that a few herbs and spices might enhance it “up to eleven.” To that end he mixes coriander, black pepper, kosher salt, garlic and thyme to form a paste. Now he's ready to tie, for which he needs some butcher's twine. He retrieves a spool of that from a drawer – except it's not a spool, just a few feet of the stuff on an empty cone!

Alton visits a string store. Dozens of different cords, twines, and ropes hang from the ceiling; the front counter hosts more spools of cordage. There, he receives a lesson: twine comes from a word that means two and properly refers to two strands of twisted yarn. Cord is woven or braided, not twisted. The salesman claims rope and twine helped man conquer the planet, contemptuously dismissing Alton's answer that fire was actually the most helpful discovery. Alton explains that he wants to tie meat, and the salesman rules out hemp, sisal or jute. All of these would leave fibers in the food – not good eats. Many cooks choose polyester or a polyester blend, but these are too flexible – the salesman recommends cotton or linen strings as a good choice. Alton spots another, even stiffer string, but its stiffness comes from wax. No one wants to eat a candle, so that choice is out. The string man also offers Alton a flower pot. Inverted over a roll of twine, it works as a handy and cheap dispenser.

Alton sets his twine dispenser on the floor between his feet, and his paired racks of lamb on the counter in front of him. Most recipes suggest having a butcher assemble the racks into a crown shape, but Alton has another idea: a bundt pan. He first turns the racks so the curve of the rib faces downwards, and then ties the end ribs of each rack together tightly. Bringing the twine across, he goes around the other pair of end ribs two or three times, and then around the paired racks two or three times. He sets this “assembled” crown into the bundt pan, where the central pillar helps keep the crown shape.

Next, he adds some olive oil to the outside. This helps the spice paste stick to the ribs. He packs that into the meat, saving a tablespoon or so to put into the center of the crown.

At this point, Alton notes, one might cover the racks with a plastic bag. Thus covered, they might be stored for as long as two days in the refrigerator. With the plastic over them, there's little danger of cross contamination. Or, one might cook it now...

At this point, consideration usually turns to a stuffing of some sort. But (suddenly, a “stuffing is evil” card descends from above, prompting Alton to remind viewers that he has recanted, and disproved his abjuration against stuffing from long ago). But in this case, stuffing would alter the cooking properties of the meat, and so in this case... stuffing remains evil.

Alton slides his meat (still in the bundt pan) into the oven at 375° F. He'll cook it for about ten minutes per pound, but even better is an internal probe thermometer set to warn him when the temperature reaches 130° F inside. This is important because lamb lacks the intramuscular fat present in beef, and so is much more prone to overcooking.

The USDA men-in-black reappear: they report the official government recommendation of 145° F to ensure no food borne pathogens. Alton advises those who do everything their government says to follow suit, but asserts that he plans to pull his roast at his original target of 130° F!

When his timer chimes, Alton removes his meat from the oven. He resists the urge to cut into it immediately, instead letting it rest, covered, for at least twenty minutes. Why? As he reminds us in a clip from season one, the oven's heat creates pressure that forces the juices into the center of the meat. Cut it while it is still hot, and those juices run everywhere, leaving the meat a tough piece of leather in a pool of juice. Wait until it has cooled a bit and the juices have largely returned to where they belong, and you'll have a tender and juicy piece of meat.

Alton uses the juicy bits from the bottom of the bundt pan – the fond – to build a sauce. He adds some chopped fresh rosemary, sherry vinegar and a little Dijon mustard (that last will also help emulsify, or blend, the sauce). He whisks that together and serves.

At the table, Alton reminds viewers that he believes it's a bad idea to prepare stuffing inside the meat, but adds that it's a good idea to bring it to the table with stuffing in it. His uses rice pilaf, but other good choices include roast vegetables, mashed potatoes or couscous. Added right when the meat comes out of the oven, stuffing will absorb juices from the meat; this enhances its flavor.

Also before serving, Alton removes the outer string. Linen shows its advantage here; it doesn't cook into the meat as much as cotton would. Alton usually carves down between pairs of ribs to separate the meat into portions that he serves with a helping of the stuffing. As he slides a half dozen ribs onto a plate, he invites viewers back for another Good Eats – as long as they're willing to dress better next time...

Share this article with your friends