For five generations, the Cristóbal family has been preparing one dish to perfection at their Restaurante Asados Nazareno in the ancient market town of Roa: lechazo, or roast cordero lechal (unweaned suckling lamb). The dry Castilian landscape along the Ribera del Duero, where vineyards meet golden fields of cereals, is the heartland of lechazo. Asadores, or traditional restaurants that roast these as well as suckling pigs in wood ovens, abound, and are championed with cultish loyalty. Many aficionados—me among them—consider Asados Nazareno to be the regions’s best.
Until recently, Asados Nazareno opened only on Tuesdays (market day in Roa) and weekends. Quarters must be ordered before noon, when master roaster, octogenarian Javier Cristóbal, places them on wide earthenware dishes and slides them into the restaurant’s deep, wood-burning ovens. No herbs, no garlic, just some manteca (lard), salt, and a touch of water. That’s it. And only for lunch.
With such straightforward cooking, what is the key to such perfection? “The most important thing is the quality of the animal,” Javier told me, dismissing his own well-honed touch. The best lechazo are twenty-four days old, he said, and weigh 22 to 24 pounds/10 to 11 kg.
I was eating with Manuel “Manolo” Pérez Pascuas of Bodegas Pérez Pascuas—Viña Pedrosa (see page 218). It was Tuesday and packed with winemakers. (The Consejo Regulador for Ribera del Duero wine is located in Roa.) With the harvest beginning later that week, the mood was buoyant if a bit nervy.
When our quarters were ready, Javier slid the earthenware dishes from the oven and carved some of the meat off the bone for easier eating, adding a final pinch of salt. When the large dishes were set down in front of us along with a simple green salad, the first thing Manolo did was to soak a piece of bread in the pooled juices.
“The sheep are nearly wild,” Manolo explained as we dug into the long, tender strips of succulent meat. “They need to walk for food, the mothers eating the dry herbs.” He took a bite and then added, “Son deportistas.” (They’re sportswomen.)
As we worked through our quarters, Manolo repeated the wisdom that where there is good wine, good food follows. I raised my glass of lusty Viña Pedrosa reserva.
We finished the meal with a couple of slices of chilled green melon. Green salad, roast suckling lamb, and melon—the Jack-Queen-King of Castilian cooking.