Lamb and quince tajine

Wearing shorts and a polo shirt on a warm autumn day, I went shopping for the ingredients of a Moroccan lamb and quince tajine.

At the St Livrade market I found quinces and a bunch of coriander at the stall of a young Moroccan, a serious lad who rarely smiles.

I caused him angst with a 20 euro note. He fussed around looking for change and apologised for the delay.

I surprised him with “Makain mushkin”, which means “no worries”.

He smiled.

I went to my favourite butcher shop to buy lamb shanks but I didn’t remember the French words. I confessed this to the woman serving me and proffered in English ‘lamb shanks’.

She, and most of those waiting at the counter, looked blankly at me.

So I pointed to my bare shins.

That’s when I panicked, knowing that psoriasis had left large patches of scar tissue on my lower legs.

Fearing the entire butcher shop’s attention was now focussed there, I was relieved when my friendly butcher said, “sourrie d’agneau?”.

“Oui! Oui!,” I said.

In the late afternoon, as the tajine cooked on the stove, Cliona and I sat outside, enjoying a lambent dusk. 

We watched the planes, picked out by a setting sun, move like silver darts across the sky.

The lamb shanks, onions, garlic, coriander, cumin, ginger and cinnamon all combined to nicely complement the quince, whose tartness was softened by honey and a throw of sugar.

With the meal, we drank a blend of tempranillo, cabernet sauvignon and garnac, a Spanish wine acquired on a recent trip to San Sebastian.