The Lambs of God: Compressing Time, Memory, and the Principled Plate Miniature

The Cycle of Life 

For many, Easter is an opportunity to relax, take a trip, or meet with family and friends. For others, it reveals another world: dignified, hope-giving, sacred, and different from our everyday life. If we consider, strictly linear time does not exist. Celebrations, religious or personal, move in cycles. They return to us as in ancient civilisations, except they did not celebrate the past as we do. They celebrated the present, the advent of spring, the harvest, or the first rains.

From Sacrifice to Gluttony 

We know celebrations always ended with a great meal. Back then, they made a sacrifice to satisfy the gods, then filled their stomachs. Later, we thank the cook, and the gods' place is taken by aluminum hydroxide (antacids). Easter is the most important holiday in the Greek Orthodox Church. It celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ, the defeat of sin, death, and guilt. Yet, because the New Testament calls Jesus the "Lamb of God," the short life of millions of lambs in Europe depends on this region and this specific week.

The Guardians of the Ritual: Dario & Fred 

Shepherds and butchers take on this huge responsibility. I have met many people in both jobs, and most share a similar outlook. But two butchers, in particular, shaped my own values. First, there is Fred, a well-known Parisian butcher from the 11th arrondissement. He showed me that respect comes from knowledge. Even after retiring, he travelled to Italy and Argentina to learn new ways to cut meat. When I told him how we prepare lamb in Greece, he corrected me: "Buy the whole lamb. Chop it yourself. Honor the animal."

Then there is Dario Cecchini. To visit him, you travel to the rolling hills of Panzano in Chianti, Tuscany. In his legendary shop and his restaurant "Solociccia" ("Only Meat"), Dario preaches a philosophy that changed me: "To beef or not to beef?" is not the question. The question is respect. Dario teaches us there are no "premium" or "secondary" cuts. Every part of the animal, from nose to tail, carries the same dignity because it comes from the same sacrifice. He recites Dante while breaking down a carcass, reminding us that butchery is not slaughter; it is a translation of life into nourishment.

Compressing Time: Saturday Night meets Sunday Noon 

When I brought these memories to my restaurant in Paris, I faced a challenge. How do you translate the chaotic, loud, multi-day feast of Greek Easter into a single, refined plate? In Greece, we have two distinct culinary rituals:

1. Magiritsa (Saturday Night): After the Resurrection mass at midnight, after 40 days of fasting, we eat this soup made from lamb offal, lettuce, dill, and lemon-egg sauce (avgolemono) to prepare the stomach.

2. The Spit-Roasted Lamb (Sunday Noon): The main event, where the whole lamb turns over the fire, and we eat the crispy skin and the meat.

I wanted to compress these 24 hours of tradition into one bite. I wanted the guest to taste the Resurrection and the Feast at once.

The Dish: A Miniature of Tradition. So, I created a dish that was a technical marvel and a tribute to memory:

• The Base (Magiritsa): Instead of a soup, I created a rich, velvety sauce using the greens (romaine lettuce, fresh onions, dill) and the offal broth, thickened with a precise avgolemono.

• The Miniature Kokoretsi: This was the technical highlight. Kokoretsi is a traditional dish where organ meats (liver, lungs, and hearts) are wrapped in intestines and roasted. It is usually large and rustic. I used a precise technique to create a "Miniature Kokoretsi." I hand-wrapped tiny, delicate pieces of offal with the finest intestines, creating a bite-sized jewel with all the smoky, intense flavor of the original, but refined for fine dining.

• The Lamb: Beside it, a perfectly cooked cut of lamb loin, respecting Fred’s lessons on precision.

Two traditions, one plate. The soup of the night and the roast of the day, coexisting.

The Wine: Bowing to the King 

To pair with such a dish, one might expect me to serve my own wines. Our Philia Fokiano or the Avgoustiatis would be worthy companions. They share the same Aegean soul, volcanic intensity, and the structure to stand up to the rich offal. However, sometimes a winemaker must step back and acknowledge the master. For this dish, for that memory, there was only one choice. The Great & Marvellous Liatiko from Domaine Economou in Sitia, Crete. Yiannis Economou is not just a winemaker; he is a custodian of history. His Liatiko, with its oxidised notes, tastes like ancient history.