Christmas 2022
Every Christmas should be different, a break from the holiday "norm". This Christmas had a laid-back vibe to it. I enjoyed it.
Mum and I made our coffee and joined Jeff in the living room so we could open presents. Jeff loves his otter pendent, and I love my opossum. I absolutely love my new plaid shirt! Mum really enjoyed the two books I bought of Saint Anthony's teachings. She was slow to warm up over her new hearing aids. I think she's suspicious of them. They are the real thing, and not cheap sound amplifiers. We'll set them up tomorrow.
By then, it was time for Jeff to start prepping his brisket. But he was feeling really sick. He had excused himself after the gifts were done, and I went upstairs to check on him a short time later.
He looked terrible. He asked if we could do Christmas dinner tomorrow. I told him I'd ask Mum.
The look of disappointment on her face was easy to read. I vowed to cook the beef myself, and to have a lovely and simple meal.
In truth, Mum and I had a fun morning and afternoon. We satisfied our sweet tooth with an apple fritter that Jeff had brought home for breakfast. Gotta love those guilty pleasures. I sat in the basement stairwell with her, and we smoked like chimneys as we talked and laughed over the weirdness that is our family life.
I spent a little time with Dad as well. His ashes rest on the mantle. I told him I loved him, and I miss him, and not a day goes by without me thinking about him. Mum seems so lost without him. She keeps him in her heart, and is surrounded by the things they built, bought, or mended together. And the Arizona flag from Jeff's Dad's funeral rests on the other side of the mantle.
But I had to get dinner on.
I prepped the meat and set it aside. Time for the rub! Jeff told me which recipe to use; he was going with a spicy Texas recipe. I measured the ingredients in a small bowl, omitting the chili powder, as Jeff recommended. I tasted it. My tongue exploded. I seriously could not scrape my tongue hard and fast enough to get that taste out of my mouth. Buh-bye ingredients.
I started over, omitting both chili powder and black pepper. I tasted it. My tongue exploded.
This rub recipe was wrong on so many levels. I didn't want that bitter-and-hot taste leaching into the beef while cooking. Nope.
I drew upon my Italian heritage and made a rub that was nice and savory, thank God and all the saints. If He's looking to follow up on my pleas to damn it, He can find all that "Texas" spice where it belongs: deep within the confines of a trash bag on the porch.
But wait, there's more!
This slab of meat was supposed to cook at 350° for hour uncovered, and then covered at 300° for three hours. We didn't have four hours. I removed it from the oven after two "covered" hours and the damn thing went from tender to leather in less than a minute (yes, I let it rest for fifteen minutes prior to cutting.)
We do have prime rib in the freezer. It's the kind you slit and pull into a ring with the rib tips on top.
All that aside, the flavor was yummy even if the meat was tough. (It was so damn tough that Angus spat it out,
looked at it, and then began chewing it again.) Mum kept pulling small pieces off the plate to nibble on. I was in heaven with all the yummy fat.
We decimated the side dishes. We split the asparagus between us, and ate at least a pound's worth of sweet potato casserole. I've already regained the 5 pounds I worked so hard at eliminating. Tomorrow, it's back to the diet (which I actually enjoy!)
I did the dishes - there weren't that many, thank goodness! Always wash as you work! - and Mum put them away.
She brought Dante to the living room so they could watch TV together. I retreated upstairs to blog and tweak some illustrations. It really was a pleasant day.
As for future baked beef briskets? Mum and I officially proclaimed that we will not do a beef brisket in the oven for any holiday again. It was so damn tough that Angus spat it out, looked at it, and then began chewing it. And chewing. And chewing.
I feel so bad for Hershey, though. The beef fat and canned lamb dog food played hell with his digestive system. I let him out a short time ago and he had the worst shit of his life. I could hear the bubbly farts from my spot on the porch. Absolute diarrhea.
It's almost 4 am and I hear someone scuffling at the back door.
What the fuck, guys?! Who does that? I really don't want to go
downstairs again. I swear to God, if you're a criminal, may He spare the fool from my wrath.
Woah, there! HELLO... um, Satan?
I never knew ground mustard could scream.
Also, it really is 4 AM on a Monday.