Posting for the historical record:
Thankfully it was just the immediate family unit and one old-friend/associate/T-day orphan.
Because, though all was well in the end, the journey was the sort of near disaster that will be re-told over the years at hopefully better-coordinated celebrations.
We often do turkey, but are in no way enslaved to it as a tradition. So, this year we decided to grill a marinated butterflied leg o' lamb. While we had many practical-logistical as well as gustatory reasons for the choice, it proved nearly fatal.
First the thinking: We are currently in a small, temporary rental apartment with very little work space in the kitchen, no real dining room, and a severely underpowered range.
However, one of the few advantages of this FEMA trailer-esque abode, (aside from its being 1 block from Spoon) is that it has a small, neat back yard just out the back door which is nicely sheltered from the alley traffic by a garage. In summer it was a little patch of virtual countryside. In addition, it is now hugely enhanced by the generous gift from my sister-in-law of a monster Weber gas grill. (Gas wouldn't be my first choice, but there it is, and frankly, I've been enjoying it.)
So, our thought was: let's grill some red meat, thus freeing the kitchen for the heating of sides, plating, and stacking of dirties. No smoke or lingering smells, no huge dirty roasting pan, no muss, no fuss. And we can drink some good red wine.
Well, when the big evening arrived, the temp. had significantly dropped and the wind whipped itself into a freezing, whirling, motiveless malignity, channeled by the neighbor's fence, the house, and the garage.
As a neophyte gas griller, it had never occurred to me that my big honking metal machine with its heavy frame and lid and propane tank could simply be puffed out. But so it proved.
After the nibbles, soup, and first course (descriptions below), I went out, turned on the behemoth and lay the meat upon it to a satisfying snap and sizzle. I then went back in the house, set the timer for the half-way point and went to work on the sides.
Twenty minutes later I went out into the frigid, blustery night to turn the meat and found it lying there, slightly seared on the bottom, and practically frozen, with no sign of fire anywhere.
I was nonplussed, but sanguine, figuring that our general conviviality could easily absorb a 15-20 min. pause. So I fired her up again, tried and failed to see just where the wind was hitting the thing to extinguish it, then rotated it 90 degrees and tried to improvise a windscreen out of the vinyl cover.
In addition to cold and wind, another difficulty we had failed to consider was that in summer, when grilling, it stays light throughout the cooking period. Now, in late Nov., it was pitch dark. I couldn't see either the grill or the meat, except as ominous shapes looming at me.
Meanwhile the wind appeared to die down, so I went back inside feeling that this must have just been some crazy fluke, and suavely announced a "small delay, but no matter, just time for a bit more wine and conversation."
Went back out as the sides finished up, and found the fire out again, and the meat refrigerator cold and raw.
I considered just walking out onto Western Ave. like James Mason into the waves at the end of "A Star Is Born," but instead decided that the only way to survive this Fawlty Towers "Gourmet Night" was to confess all and find a new plan, since we didn't want all the sides to whither while waiting for the meat. There was a cheerful consensus that we could pretend to be vegetarian and eat all the sides together as if they were intended to be dinner. Then, we could have the lamb itself as either a palate cleanser, or dessert, depending on how you chose to look at it.
Privately, I was experiencing deepening concern that alternately searing and chilling a lamb leg over and over again might not be the surest route to juicyness ever devised by the mind of man. At this point I decided to remove the meat, close the lid till we hit 400 deg. or so and do some high heat roasting or this thing would never catch up. Que sera sera.
While wife, guest, and son chatted, I stayed out in the freezing dark to guard the flame. After 15 min. of roasting, I had an internal temp of 100. (About 45-50 deg. short of med. rare.) I roasted some more, then opened the top, turned the meat, and stood there with it for another 10-15 min. while the other side grilled. My internal temp. never got beyond 135 (at least according to my thermometer), but I decided that surely I could get 3 portions off of either end before hitting the undone center.
I was more concerned that my avant garde grilling-chilling-grilling-chilling-roasting-grilling technique had likely produced something more like medieval weaponry than dinner.
In from the howling wind I came bearing what turned out to be, once inside, a fragrant and attractive looking platter. In the end, it was a perfect med. rare, unaccountably juicy and delicious.
Frazzled as I was by the adventure, I found myself giving heartfelt thanks for good company and good wine, and the fact that we hadn't invited 8 or 10 or 20 and had a much larger mass of meat to deal with.
The menu:
Starters
* Salmon mousse and truffle pate (bought

) w/ toasted baguette rounds
* White bean/yogurt/thyme/lemon dip w/ crudites
* Champagne
Soup: Butternut squash, sage, parmesan, cream
First course: mushroom ragu on browned polenta triangles
(Accidentally) Vegetarian main course:
* Duchesse potatoes gratin in individual ramekins (This was an old Gourmet recipe I tried, and while it was fine, I wouldn't say that all the effort of ricing, beating in cream, eggs, butter, etc. and then re-baking for 40 min. made for anything more wonderful than standard mashed.)
* Carrots agro dolce (courtesy of a link provided by LAZ) This involved simmering in a combo of wine, cider vinegar, and water, then tossing with oil, garlic, and fresh basil/oreg./parsely and allowing to sit a bit. The sweet/tart/herb balance turned out well nigh perfect and a great compliment to the rich creamy things around it.
* Balsamic glazed pearl onions: dead simple and very good. Browned in butter, balsamic added and slowly cooked down to a syrup.
FINALLY: Leg of lamb from Pauline Mrkt. heavily larded with garlic slivers and marinated 9 hrs. in red wine, olive oil, rosemary, thyme.
Actual dessert: Standard pumkin pie, whipped cream, partially whole wheat crust.
Wine: we started with a white that was brought. It was Spanish, but I forget what exactly.
Switched to red for the meal: '98 Gattinara. For me, this was just right with the lamb. All the nice earth and autumnal qualities of Piedmont wines with the overall body in scale for a meal, and pretty much at peak.
"Strange how potent cheap music is."