Mary’s had a little lamb.

Lemon-Pepper Lamb Chops

While I thought my days of ovine infanticide were behind me, I found myself standing in front of an almost completely barren meat counter at my Hannaford last night, save for an abundance of “Manager’s Special” lamb chop 4-packs. After gazing covetously at the bounty while absent-mindedly stroking my rapidly-increasing belly for several minutes, I submitted to temptation, shamefully buried the thickest cuts I could find under some paper towel rolls, and the Peña’s proceeded to heartily enjoy the tastiest of Easter metaphors.

To my chagrin, my spice cupboard has hit an embarrassingly low supply, and I’m fresh out of parsley, sage, rosemary and, you guessed it, thyme. So I shook a little lemon-pepper powder on each side of the chops, rubbed on some olive oil, and tossed them under the broiler for 5 minutes, then flipped them over and gave them another 7. Not wanting to detract from the headliner, I plated the chops with baked potatoes and a Fresh Express BLT Cesar Salad, a product that widely surpasses bagged salad expectations. Unfortunately, I was unable to contain myself long enough to take any pictures.

Mr. Peña and I spent dinner (all 6 minutes of it), in lama-like communion with our plates, and for at least 10 minutes afterward, I felt almost alive for the first time since I undertook my latest chromosomal oeuvre. There’s no way to convey the delicate gaminess of the wrongest of meats, the slight rose-petal quality of the ruddy medium-rare flesh, the enthusiasm of the fat as it bows cheerfully for your knife. If you’re as evil as I am underneath it all, go ahead and make it a yearly transgression. Whatever your religion, atonement will be worth it.

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