Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Rainy night wishes

It was raining hard last night. After reading to the boys, we lay in bed and heard the rain on the roof. I asked, "Do you hear the rain?"

Jack responded, "I thought it was Santa on the roof and candy was falling out of his pockets."

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Christmas Dinner

Our family has an unwritten rule that if you do something once, it becomes a tradition. This includes "big" things like Cabel bringing a Buche de Noel (Christmas Log Cake) and "little" things like Santa setting up the train under the tree.

Our traditional "big" Christmas meal is on Christmas Eve at Meegan parents. We feast on ham, cheesy potatoes, green beans, a "steakhouse" salad, and a veggie platter. It is such a rich and delicious meal that if I had it more than once a year, I'd be what my doctor would call "morbidly overweight."

Regardless, since Christmastime is family time, we try to have the family over for a (light and subdued) Christmas Day dinner. This year it was going to be just Meegan's parents.

I mumbled that I'd like to do a roast beef, but it was so expensive and I'd never done one before. Meegan chimed it that her grandfather always did a roast beef. Well, that cinched it. Roast beef it was.

What to have with the roast beast was easy: Yorkshire pudding, potatoes (in case the pudding didn't turn out), parsnips, and creamed spinach. I set off to Fred Meyer in search of meat. Fortunately for me, the butcher was setting out some rib eye roast just as I began searching. Unfortunately for him, I barraged him with dozens of questions. How long do I cook it? How do I know it's done? How do I serve it? I ended up with a 7.5 pounder and finished the rest of the shopping.

The next days were filled with many, many Internet searches and cookbook consultations on how to cook my $38 purchase.

Then, I talked to my Uncle Doug, the Ultimate Barbecuer, about all the conflicting information. He almost hung up when I told him I was going to roast the beef in the oven. His advice was to get the Weber as hot a possible, put the beef on indirect and check the temp after about an hour and a half. When I said that all the guides say that if I want medium rare to take the meat out when the meat thermometer reads 145 degrees.

"I don't care what your guides say, 145 degrees is too hot. Take it out when it read 125 degrees. The people who like their meat ruined (i.e., well done) can get the ends, and the people who like it red get the middles."

He was right.

I convection roasted the beef for 2 hours, when the meat thermometer read 120 degrees (I was worried that it was in there too long). That gave me about 35 minutes for the meat to set and to cook the rest of the food.

The result was better than I could have ever expected. The beef had a temperature for each of us--from well done to rare. The Yorkshire pudding was sublime. Creamed spinach added an elegant touch of green. And parsnips are just about my favorite veggie, so I couldn't go wrong there.

Shortbread cookies and hot chocolate made up dessert.

I think now we've added yet another traditional meal to our slate. It's a tradition I'm looking forward to.

Population boom on the Island of Misfit Toys

Jack has a great imagination, it is boosted by a desire to believe in the imaginary, but bounded by his knowledge of reality. It is in this dichotomy that Jack told me that there are only two cartoon stories that are real: Santa Claus is Comin' to Town and Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. I asked him if Frosty the Snowman is real.

"No, a hat can't make a snowman come to life."

"How do you know that?"

"Daddy, next time it snows, I'm going to build a snowman and put a hat on his head. Then, you'll see that it doesn't come to life."

On Rudolf's adventure, he is diverted to the Island of Misfit Toys. These are toys that have minor or major flaws that diminish their appeal to children. One is a Charlie-in-the-Box, another is a train with square wheels, and a third is piggy bank without a slot. Jack is keen to note that most of these flaws can easily be remedied: nothing's wrong with Charlie's name, square wheels can be replaced, and someone can cut a slot in the piggy bank.

Jack's #1 Toy He Had was a two feet tall Transformer named Starscream. The kids' commercials have been relentlessly hawking Strarscream and his two colleagues since Halloween. (Here's the ad--don't click unless you have broadband.) It sure looks cool in its two feet of plastic and hype.

Something that the commercials don't tell you is that the Transformers come from a planet that is not bound by the rules of gravity. The advertisers have you believe that Starscream can fly and fight in ways seen only in Jackie Chan movies.

Jack was ecstatic when he unwrapped Starscream--the toy he always wanted. The One Toy he told Santa he wanted. "Quick, Mom! Open it up!"

Pulling Starscream out of the box, Jack set him standing up on the coffee table. Like tree felled by Paul Bunyan, Starscream fell backwards on the table. After repeated attempts, Jack concluded that Starscream couldn't stand up on his own!

Dad to the Rescue!

Surely the toy engineers at Hasbro wouldn't design a $50 toy that couldn't stand up. I swooped in and declared that I can fix Starscream.

I bent this leg this way, that leg that way, and tilted his torso in ways only my physical therapist has seen before. Gently lifting my hands away, Starscream was standing. Success!

"Dad? He's not looking straight ahead."

Normally, I would chalk this up to Jack's fastidiousness, but he was right. Starscream was looking up like a rapturous pilgrim on St. Peter's looking for the Pope's blessing.

At that point, Meegan told Jack that Santa spent a lot of money on Starscream and that Target would lets us exchange it for something else and send it to the Island of Misfit Toys. So, I packed up Starscream for his ignominious trip to the Island.

PS: As a contrast, Max got a $10 Cool Toys robot from Target that walks, spins, fires a gun, and makes enough noise to drive any adult crazy. We opened the box, set it on the ground (he stands!), pushed a button, and it did its stuff. Now, that's value for money!

Santa came! Santa came!

After a long, long night (and an even longer night for Meegan), I woke up around 7:00. In the foggy haze of morning, I shuffled downstairs to start the coffee and, more importantly, make sure the camera was charged and ready. As I turned the corner into the living room, it was obvious that Santa graced our house with a visit.

Just as I was sitting down with a cup of coffee and the Sunday paper, I heard pitter patters sounds punctuated by Max's cat-child sounds that signal an excitement overload.

We woke up Zöe, opened the presents that Santa left upstairs, ate a few chocolates, and headed downstairs.

The boys were beyond belief. Jack noticed immediately that Santa set up the train set around the tree. Zöe grabbed the stuffed bear that was too big for Santa to wrap. And Max pointed out to Meegan the her new (to us) iMac.

We took turns opening our presents, which drew out the process into hours. There were enough toys, however, to entertain during the periodic breaks to eat, have a glass of champagne, and take a few phone calls. When all was done, everyone was satisfied ... except Jack, whose #1 Toy He Had to Have suffered from severe design flaws that did not comport with Jack's exacting specifications (to be continued).