Braised Lamb Shank Ramen
Lamb shanks are one of those cuts that demand patience and reward you with the kind of tenderness that makes you forget how long you waited. This isn't a Tuesday night dinner unless you've got your life together in ways most people don't. It's a weekend project, the kind of thing you make when it's cold outside and you've got nowhere to be except your kitchen, watching something braise low and slow until it's so tender it practically dissolves when you look at it. The broth here is built from the braising liquid, which means every bit of flavor that seeps out of the lamb during its long bath gets captured and turned into something you'll want to drink straight from the bowl. It's rich, it's meaty, it's deeply savory with hints of rosemary and red wine, and it's about as far from instant ramen as you can get while still technically being ramen. If you're the kind of person who thinks cooking should sometimes feel like an event, this is your dish.
Winter bone whispers—lamb falls soft in rosemary—warmth in every slurp.
Let Me Tell You...
The first time I made this, I didn't actually plan to make ramen.
I was braising lamb shanks because I'd found them on sale and figured I'd do the whole rustic European thing with mashed potatoes and roasted carrots.
But then I tasted the braising liquid halfway through and realized it was too good to waste on just a pan sauce.
It was rich and glossy, tasting like red wine and bone marrow and all the lamb's secrets it had been keeping for two hours.
I had ramen noodles in the pantry because I always have ramen noodles in the pantry, and the idea hit me like a freight train.
Why not just put the lamb on top of noodles and call it fusion?
So I did, and it worked so well I felt like I'd cheated somehow.
That caramelized crust is where half the flavor lives.
The thing about braising is it's mostly waiting.
You do some work up front, browning the meat, sweating the aromatics, deglazing with wine like you're in a cooking show, and then you just let time do the rest. I spent most of the two and a half hours it took reading a book and occasionally checking to make sure my apartment hadn't burned down, which is the kind of cooking I can get behind.
The smell, though, is relentless.
It starts subtle, just garlic and rosemary, and then it builds into this full-bodied aroma that makes you understand why people used to think food smells could summon spirits.
If there are ghosts in my building, they definitely showed up that day.
A little richness is good; a slick of grease is not.
When the lamb was done, it slid off the bone with zero resistance, which is always a good sign.
I shredded some of it and left some in bigger chunks because I like the visual drama of a whole shank sitting in a bowl of noodles like some kind of medieval feast reimagined for the 21st century.
The broth I strained and tasted, then adjusted with a little soy sauce and mirin to bring it closer to something you'd expect in a ramen bowl.
It didn't need much.
The wine and the lamb fat had already done most of the work.
I served it to a friend who's very particular about food, the kind of person who sends dishes back at restaurants for reasons I don't always understand.
He ate the whole bowl without saying a word, which I've learned is his version of a compliment.
Afterward, he asked if I'd used demi-glace, which I hadn't, but I liked that he thought I had.
The lamb was so tender it felt indulgent, almost excessive, but in a way that made you glad you were alive to experience it.
It's not everyday food.
It's special occasion food, or bad weather food, or the kind of thing you make when you want to remind yourself that cooking can be more than just fuel.
It can be a whole damn experience.
Ingredients
- 2 lamb shanks (about 1.5–2 lbs total)
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 2 large carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
- 3 celery stalks, cut into 1-inch pieces
- 6 cloves garlic, smashed
- 2 cups dry red wine (such as Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot)
- 4 cups beef broth (preferably low-sodium)
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 sprigs fresh rosemary
- 2 sprigs fresh thyme
- 2 bay leaves
- 2 tablespoons soy sauce
- 1 tablespoon mirin
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt (plus more to taste)
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper (plus more to taste)
- 2 packages (6–8 oz total) fresh ramen noodles, or 2 bricks instant ramen noodles (seasoning packets discarded)
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- Fresh rosemary leaves for garnish
Preparation
- Preheat your oven to 325°F. Pat the lamb shanks dry with paper towels and season generously on all sides with salt and pepper.
- Heat the olive oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed oven-safe pot over medium-high heat. Sear the lamb shanks on all sides until deeply browned, about 3–4 minutes per side. Remove the shanks and set aside.
- In the same pot, add the diced onion, carrots, and celery. Sauté for 5–6 minutes until the vegetables begin to soften and caramelize slightly. Add the smashed garlic and tomato paste, stirring for 1–2 minutes until fragrant.
- Pour in the red wine, scraping the bottom of the pot to release any browned bits. Let the wine simmer for 3–4 minutes to reduce slightly and cook off some of the alcohol.
- Add the beef broth, rosemary sprigs, thyme sprigs, and bay leaves. Return the lamb shanks to the pot, nestling them into the liquid. The liquid should come about halfway up the shanks—add more broth or water if needed.
- Cover the pot with a tight-fitting lid and transfer to the preheated oven. Braise for 2.5 to 3 hours, turning the shanks halfway through, until the meat is fall-apart tender and pulls away from the bone easily.
- Remove the pot from the oven and carefully transfer the lamb shanks to a plate. Tent with foil to keep warm. Strain the braising liquid through a fine-mesh sieve into a large bowl, discarding the solids. Skim off excess fat from the surface using a spoon or fat separator.
- Return the strained liquid to the pot and place over medium heat. Stir in the soy sauce and mirin. Taste and adjust seasoning with additional salt and pepper as needed. Let simmer for 5 minutes to concentrate the flavors slightly. Whisk in the butter to add richness and gloss.
- Cook the ramen noodles according to package instructions (typically 3–4 minutes in boiling water). Drain and toss with a few tablespoons of the braising liquid to coat.
- Divide the noodles among serving bowls. Ladle the hot broth generously over the noodles. Place a lamb shank (or portions of shredded lamb) on top of each bowl. Garnish with fresh rosemary leaves and any optional toppings.