Christmas Eve - Rib Roast

Well, Christmas Eve was the cooking day this year. We have decided to have Christmas morning at home with the girls, but also decided, at least for this year, to head to Indiana to visit with family around the middle of Christmas Day. I was torn between making a ham or a beef rib roast, and decided that the rib roast was the best plan. I haven’t put our relatively new oven through much of a workout since it’s arrival in the fall, mostly because we have been battling a string of illnesses in our house, and I have been completely off my game on meal preparations; mostly just phoning it in with staples that are nice, but hardly worth writing about (at least not around the holidays).

I found a great, and simple, guide for cooking a rib roast, and I'd love to meet this "Pops Fassett" some day. I've made a few roasts over the years, but am always looking for a simpler way to get the job done, and done predictably. Trust me, if you plan to make a nice standing rib roast, and you like it cooked perfectly pink with a delicious, crispy edge, this will not let you down. I kept my rub painfully simple. Just some garlic salt, kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and a small bit of rosemary (under the ribs only). I'm not usually one to just follow directions, and I did tweak Pops' plan a tiny bit, but I didn't need to.

We invited a neighbor to join us, and it was a wonderful meal, with mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli (for which I broke down and made a cheddar cheese sauce - of course, from scratch and with real cheddar), and to make it feel like a real holiday meal, our older daughter had her first time helping her mom roll out the crescent rolls from the tube. Some things are just fine from mass producers, and tubes of bread at holiday meals sure do save a great deal of hassle. 

The Verdict

My wife insisted on a Bordeaux with our meal, and I am glad she did. The one we served had a great peppery nose, and was a great partner for our meal. The meat was tender, cooked just the way I like it (and even met with approval from our older daughter!). It had just the right bit of saltiness, and I'm glad I decided against adding garlic gloves throughout the roast tonight. Simple was just what was needed. The potatoes met with the usual approval from both little ones. I served up a bit of bleu cheese to accentuate the meat, and it was a nice addition. It was a basic meal, but throwing all modesty aside, it was almost perfectly executed. The broccoli was neither too crisp, nor too soggy. The potatoes were a tiny bit heavier than I make most of the time, but I opted for half-and-half over the usual milk, and that made a good bit of difference on all fronts.

I think sticking with a simple, traditional meal and spending the time with a favorite neighbor and my immediate family had a particularly strong appeal for me this year. I've been pained thinking about the losses so many families faced in the wake of the school shooting in CT. I've been thinking of friends who have lost loved ones entirely too soon in life lately, and others coping with serious illnesses, living each day steeped in prayer for something far more basic and precious than gifts under a tree. I've also been acutely aware of the loss in my own life, as this is the first Christmas since my mom's passing. She is sorely missed, and would have been thrilled to enjoy that rib roast with us, I am sure. 

But with whatever melancholy may be swirling about, I am joyful in sharing my younger daughter's first Christmas with her, and especially excited that our older daughter is now at the age where the wonder and excitement come with an understanding of the special-ness of the holiday. Mom would have loved to see them, so in her honor, and with the heavy hearts of so many others in my thoughts, I will hug them tighter tomorrow, relish their joy that much more, and if it is even remotely possible, I will love my family - all my family near and far - that much more on this Christmas Day. 

(Also, look for a posting in a few weeks on beef barley soup. I saved the bones and some meat, and am really looking forward to making that in January).

Early Thanksgiving and Sandy

This past weekend, we took delivery of a new stove. The old one still did fine as a stovetop, but the oven had given up the ghost. Even if we "fudged" the inaccurate temperature and set the beast much higher, we would not have been able to get the oven any hotter than 325 degrees, and the cost of the repair was about half the cost of a new unit, so we swallowed hard and took the hit on the budget. I unofficially broke in the oven by roasting pumpkin seeds from our jack-o-lantern (cinnamon sugar - yum), but the official first dinner came on Sunday night. It somehow seemed appropriate to make something special, something that would make good use of the larger capacity and the full stovetop (the new unit has five burners, higher potential BTU output, etc.), so I opted for a quickie version of Thanksgiving dinner. 

If I were doing a "real" Thanksgiving dinner, a whole bird would have been brined. The stuffing would have been made from scratch. The veggies would have been fresh, not frozen. And I might even have made a bread from scratch as well, rather than just buying a tub of croissants. Even the cranberry sauce would have been homemade, not from a can. Instead, the turkey was a breast only (bone in, at least), and I did a simple sage, salt, and pepper rub on it. The mashed potatoes were the real deal; I couldn't let the little one down, as she seems to have developed a fondness for daddy's mashed potatoes. But the rest was as I have described.   Thankfully, the oven worked wonderfully, and I was even able to work in the croissants for a quick warm up at the end of the turkey's cook time. And the stovetop got a reasonably good workout, even if not all burners were in action at once.

Frankly, I hadn't considered writing about the meal. But reading about so many of my friends and family back on the east coast who have endured hurricane Sandy gave me pause, and made me reconsider. As I was finishing up the last of the leftovers at dinner tonight with my wife and two girls, I realized that this pre-Thanksgiving meal was just that; something to make me reflect on what I am grateful for in my life, the comfort of the mundane, and just how fragile these things are.

The verdict

The meal is not generally what I write about when I write here, and this is certainly the case tonight. I think back this evening on my childhood and early adult years in NJ, and hearing about and seeing pictures and footage of the places in NYC and NJ that were so familiar to me has had me swimming in memories (if you will pardon the awful pun). I recall celebrating with family at my Aunt Betty's in Westwood for Thanksgiving dinners, and so many other memories of that town that I could write several books. I remember flood waters in the mid-1970s when I was living with my Uncle Billy in Kendall Park, and how the stream a good bit behind his house had turned the back yard into a mucky lake (and how I swam in it with my cousins, even though it was far from safe). When I heard about the towns of Little Ferry and Moonachie, the former where I lived for a year with my dad, and the latter where he had worked at the time, I think about how I would never have imagined that area being overrun by water. I remembered the frequent flooding in Hackensack (was it River Road?), and visiting the USS Ling submarine docked along the river there. I thought about trips to the Palisades. I thought about heading to NYC with my father to visit relatives (and his old stomping grounds near my birthplace in the Bronx), and later by myself, sometimes on the sly, sometimes not. Trips down the shore. Hours on the Parkway and the Turnpike, with friends, with family, and alone. All of this seems so very different and very distant right now as I see the images on TV, on Facebook, on the local newspaper sites from around NJ, and the like. It's been years since I called the area home, but I was shaped by my childhood there, and seeing the destruction and loss so many are facing there pains me to my core.

I know what it feels like to live with the kind of devastation my friends back east are facing now, having endured a few hurricanes myself. I will do what I can to help. Maybe slate a blood donation later this week (if I can hydrate and keep the blood pressure up), donate to a good cause, offer what I can in kind words, good thoughts, and other distant deeds - whatever is possible from halfway across the country. I am already thinking that a visit when spring or summer comes around might be nice; put some money back into the rebuilding economies along the shore that will surely need it. But as is all too often the case, when we are physically removed from a disaster, we are largely at a loss to think of how we can really help those in need. 

I thought to myself tonight that, if I had a job that allowed it and didn't have a family relying on me here, I would get myself out there and help cut up downed trees, clean up flooded basements, help tarp up some rooftops - anything to be of clear and direct help. But having a pre-Thanksgiving meal also made me realize that having a job that needs me and, more importantly, a family that needs me, is the very thing that many of my friends are realizing right now as well. As they get together to grill up the perishables with neighbors (knowing that if they don't, things will spoil), many of them will grow closer to their neighbors over a meal shared from the heart. I try to do this without a disaster at hand, but I also know the special kind of camaraderie folks can build in those moments when the lights won't work, and all sense of normalcy has been removed. I am sure someone is running an extension cord from their generator to help out a neighbor tonight, sharing what they have, and in doing so, giving thanks for what they have. Some folks are feeling the stress and strain of loss. Loss of power, sure, but also loss of property, and a loss of the sense of security and stability that ordinary life brings. Thankfully, I'm not aware of any friends grieving for lost life directly, but I am sure that they mourn the losses they hear about just as I do, and in doing so, they are thankful to have survived intact.

I hope that in a few weeks my friends and family back east will have some of the comfort returned, some of the stability, security, and normalcy back, and I sincerely hope that they will have a solid recovery to be thankful for. Tomorrow, I will enjoy a kind of special normalcy, one of trick-or-treating in the neighborhood, another comfortable meal at my table, and of course, the love I share with my family. But I will hold all of you on the east coast in my thoughts as I do these things, knowing that many of you will not have these simple joys tomorrow. I ask that all of us who weathered this storm unscathed do something above and beyond to help. Tonight, I am thankful for all I have, my safety, the four walls and a roof, passable roads, and relative peace and calm in a way I wasn't on Sunday when I first cooked our meal. In the spirit of my Quaker friends, please hold all who are suffering in the light, and please do what you can, if you can, to help ease the pain, loss, and suffering. Give someone else something to be thankful for.