Let me tell you a story about the time I cooked prime rib for Christmas dinner.
It's a doozie.
It'd been a hectic Christmas, set in motion by one special little over-achiever who somehow fell prone to the "more is more" mentality of Christmas commercialism.
For some reason, cooking prime-rib sounded like an extra fantastic, exciting, and delicious endeavor. It was simple really: salt and pepper the roast, put it in the oven, be sure not to overcook it, and then marvel in the ecstasy that is your cooking prowess.
In hind sight, I should have realized something was up... I mean, we ate Wendy's for Christmas Eve dinner, a culinary masterpiece I assure you.
I had just pulled the last of the spread from the oven; yorshire pudding, a first in our house. The prime rib was resting under a tent of tinfoil, allowing carry-over cooking to do it's magic. The table was spread with "extra fancy" Christmas dinner fare - roasted broccoli and cauliflower, mashed potatoes and au jus (my own special culinary concoction), yorkshire pudding fresh from the oven, and my triumphant prime rib in the very center.
While I rounded up silverware for the table Brandon ceremoniously cut into the prime rib.
"Um, hun, how exactly do you want me to do this?"
I walked into the dining room expecting to show my husband how carving a roast wasn't rocket science.
There they sat, the entire family, eyes wide, starring blankly at the hunk of meat in the center of the table. Brandon had the knife sawing back and forth as blood oozed out of the center of our "perfectly medium-well" prime rib.
This was not going to end well, I could feel it in my bones.
After 4 minutes of attempting to salvage any meat that was actually cooked to a color my children recognized as consumable, I set down my knife.
Brandon picked up the pretty platter with the very rare, very bloody prime rib oozing in the center of it and moved it in to the kitchen counter.
"I think it's kind of freaking them out..."
To be honest, I think it was more than "kind of freaking" Brandon out.
I passed around the plates of "salvaged" prime rib.
Landon immediately voiced his opinion
"I don't think my like this chicken... yeah, my don't like this chicken. This chicken's not good huh? Guys, this chicken's not good."
(For the record, all unidentifiable meat is referred to as chicken in our house. Kind of a blanket statement sort of thing)
Kami sat at the table, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle, as she stared mortified at her plate.
"I think maybe some smoke got into my tummy so I can't eat anything.
... maybe my tummy just hurts so I can't eat anything."
Cooper poked around at his plate and actually put some meat in his mouth. Although he did ask me several times what all the white stuff was. Every time I told him it was fat. He was pretty fascinated by it.
"Mom, why do you like this white stuff on the chicken?"
"I don't Cooper, that's fat."
"Well, if you don't like it, then why did you make this recipe?"
why indeed.
But it wasn't just that the prime rib was rare. To be honest it was all terrible. The "roasted" veggies were more a mixture of charred and oily, the special au jus tasted like root beer, (... don't ask. I have no words.) the yorkshire pudding fell flat and then got cold and dense, and the mashed potatoes... well they were actually edible. But we'd had mashed potatoes 2 days in a row so they'd lost their finesse.
I left the table after the second bite. Somethings are best to walk away from.
Kameryn was the last one left sitting at the table sliding food around on her plate.
"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it Kami."
"Oh... well... I like the potatoes..."
"Kami, really, Mommy didn't like any of it. You don't have to eat it if you don't like it."
"Okay, 'cuz actually I don't really like it."
That's my girl.
After that disaster of a meal Brandon had this following gem of comfort to offer me:
"You know hun, I think maybe we just aren't prime rib people."
Yep.
If we were before we are definitely not going to be now...
Next year we're having ham.
It's a doozie.
It'd been a hectic Christmas, set in motion by one special little over-achiever who somehow fell prone to the "more is more" mentality of Christmas commercialism.
For some reason, cooking prime-rib sounded like an extra fantastic, exciting, and delicious endeavor. It was simple really: salt and pepper the roast, put it in the oven, be sure not to overcook it, and then marvel in the ecstasy that is your cooking prowess.
In hind sight, I should have realized something was up... I mean, we ate Wendy's for Christmas Eve dinner, a culinary masterpiece I assure you.
I had just pulled the last of the spread from the oven; yorshire pudding, a first in our house. The prime rib was resting under a tent of tinfoil, allowing carry-over cooking to do it's magic. The table was spread with "extra fancy" Christmas dinner fare - roasted broccoli and cauliflower, mashed potatoes and au jus (my own special culinary concoction), yorkshire pudding fresh from the oven, and my triumphant prime rib in the very center.
While I rounded up silverware for the table Brandon ceremoniously cut into the prime rib.
"Um, hun, how exactly do you want me to do this?"
I walked into the dining room expecting to show my husband how carving a roast wasn't rocket science.
There they sat, the entire family, eyes wide, starring blankly at the hunk of meat in the center of the table. Brandon had the knife sawing back and forth as blood oozed out of the center of our "perfectly medium-well" prime rib.
This was not going to end well, I could feel it in my bones.
After 4 minutes of attempting to salvage any meat that was actually cooked to a color my children recognized as consumable, I set down my knife.
Brandon picked up the pretty platter with the very rare, very bloody prime rib oozing in the center of it and moved it in to the kitchen counter.
"I think it's kind of freaking them out..."
To be honest, I think it was more than "kind of freaking" Brandon out.
I passed around the plates of "salvaged" prime rib.
Landon immediately voiced his opinion
"I don't think my like this chicken... yeah, my don't like this chicken. This chicken's not good huh? Guys, this chicken's not good."
(For the record, all unidentifiable meat is referred to as chicken in our house. Kind of a blanket statement sort of thing)
Kami sat at the table, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle, as she stared mortified at her plate.
"I think maybe some smoke got into my tummy so I can't eat anything.
... maybe my tummy just hurts so I can't eat anything."
Cooper poked around at his plate and actually put some meat in his mouth. Although he did ask me several times what all the white stuff was. Every time I told him it was fat. He was pretty fascinated by it.
"Mom, why do you like this white stuff on the chicken?"
"I don't Cooper, that's fat."
"Well, if you don't like it, then why did you make this recipe?"
why indeed.
But it wasn't just that the prime rib was rare. To be honest it was all terrible. The "roasted" veggies were more a mixture of charred and oily, the special au jus tasted like root beer, (... don't ask. I have no words.) the yorkshire pudding fell flat and then got cold and dense, and the mashed potatoes... well they were actually edible. But we'd had mashed potatoes 2 days in a row so they'd lost their finesse.
I left the table after the second bite. Somethings are best to walk away from.
Kameryn was the last one left sitting at the table sliding food around on her plate.
"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it Kami."
"Oh... well... I like the potatoes..."
"Kami, really, Mommy didn't like any of it. You don't have to eat it if you don't like it."
"Okay, 'cuz actually I don't really like it."
That's my girl.
After that disaster of a meal Brandon had this following gem of comfort to offer me:
"You know hun, I think maybe we just aren't prime rib people."
Yep.
If we were before we are definitely not going to be now...
Next year we're having ham.
I have a routine. It's called I wake up, change a diaper, then immediately go downstairs to check your blog. Yep, even before scripture study. That's how much I love it. Your Christmas card was BY FAR my favorite. I am in love with it. I love your family. I love you. That's all.
ReplyDeleteBrittany,
ReplyDeleteYou really do like prime rib, probably just not when you cook it. Next time call grandma and grandpa. They are the best at anyone I know on cooking meat. They cooked a huge one that Kathy bought them this year.
Made me laugh though. Love that Kami girl, she is always so worried about being obedient and pleasing her mom. Sounds just like her mother when she was little. And Landon, I can always trust him to let us know how it really is.
Mom
Made me laugh so hard I cried. I actually read this one out loud to Scott. He said your prime rib sounded good. I'm with you though, stick with the ham. Merry Christmas!
ReplyDelete