Margy was coming home from Paris, and her whirlwind international sojourn had earned her a hearty home-cooked dinner. So I brushed the snow away from the grill and set up some coals.
I don't believe grilling has to be limited to the summertime. I didn't always feel this way, but one brisk winter evening a few years ago I saw Enzo's mom shuffle outside in a heavy coat and slippers with a London broil on a platter, and I had a eureka moment. Margy and I now stock charcoal year-round.
The lamb chops were on sale, and they were delicious. I served them with really chunky smashed potatoes (I added a bit of chopped rosemary) and long beans with garlic.
It was incredibly weird to drive to the airport for the second time in less than 48 hours, but Margy was there waiting for me -- tired, hungry, and just a bit Frencher than when I'd seen her last.
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