Or how to make yourself feel basked in exotic, perfume-heavy sunshine when all about you is spirit-wizeningly cold and grey. For me, Moroccan is, so far, just a state of mind. In my defence, the crucial flavouring here is the very Moroccan ras-el-hanout, a musky, amber-coloured spice mix, heady with rosebuds, cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, lavender, ginger, pepper, mace and, I’m not too modest to admit, nigella, which you can, if you’re lucky, find at the supermarket now or online. But then again, crucial is a flexible term: in place of the smokily poetic ras-el-hanout, you can add to the garlic and oil below, a teaspoon of turmeric mixed with a tablespoonful each of ground coriander and cumin and a pinch each of ground cinnamon and cloves – a no less magical substitution, I promise you.
1 leg of lamb, approx. 2.5kg
1–2 tablespoons ras-el-hanout
juice of 2 lemons
6 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
bunch fresh coriander, chopped
Make incisions all over the leg of lamb, and then mix the ras-el-hanout with the lemon juice, oil, minced garlic and coriander. Using your fingers, push pinches of the mixture into the holes. Rub the remaining aromatic paste over the lamb and then put it into a large freezer bag, squeeze out any air and then tie it up and leave it to marinate in the fridge overnight, or for longer.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/gas mark 6, and take the lamb out of the fridge to come to room temperature.
Put the leg of lamb into a roasting pan, squeezing any marinade out of the bag over the meat. Roast the lamb for about an hour and a half, by which time it should be aromatically blackened on the outside, and still tender and pink within. Let the lamb rest once it comes out of the oven for at least 15 minutes, though I love this a good hour after it’s come out of the oven.
I don’t want to be too bossy about how you should eat this: that’s to say, I feel the urge, but am trying to resist it. I love it with a bowlful of moutabal and another of Puy or other lentils and some mace-scented basmati rice. But perhaps my favourite way, is to slice it into straggly rags and put it on a plate alongside a bowl of cacik and a tangle of whole mint and parsley leaves stirred through with some fine half-moons of red onion and a squeeze of lemon juice, with some sheets of soft bread-wraps or pitta on the table, too, so that people can roll up or stuff their own loose, free-form sandwiches as they eat.
Serves 8.