The Legend of the Standing Rib Roast
Holiday traditions come in two flavors. There are those popular traditions like decorating a tree or putting out the Christmas lights. Perhaps the more important traditions are the second variety–the traditions arising from within one’s own family. After all, the holidays are best celebrated with our families, either those born into or those we create.
The year Alyssa and I got engaged, I decided we’d start a new family tradition. One of our family’s holiday traditions is the standing rib roast. Each year, Publix puts its standing rib roasts on sale for an inordinately low price, usually between $5.99 and $6.99 a pound. So, I decreed the traditional Christmas meal would consist of a standing rib roast, roasted potatoes, and various sides. I purchased a seven-pound rib roast, and that’s where the wheels began to fall off the wagon.
You see, I’m a very good cook. That’s not boastfulness. I just think it’s important we recognize what we’re good at, as that’s how we realize what we aren’t good at. I was a chef earlier in life, and I like to think I can cook anything that doesn’t involve dough or bread of any kind. But I’d never made a standing rib roast. The last thing I wanted to do was destroy a $50 cut of meat on a day when stores are closed. So I dove into researching the best ways to prepare this somewhat challenging dish. By the time Christmas morning arrived, my roast had been dry rubbed with the herbs and seasonings, and I was prepping it for the oven.
My daughter was still living at home, and my middle son came to stay for the holiday. The three of them were in the living room after opening presents, and I was in the kitchen. As I was rushing to get the roast into the oven, I asked for two favors: my daughter to empty the dishwasher and my son to run the trash down to the chute. Neither happened in a timely enough fashion for my liking (maybe I was being unreasonable?), and so I did both myself. This irritated me, but the final straw came when I could hear them bitching about me “being pissy” because they didn’t “work fast enough.”
At that time in my life–pre-Adderral–I’d just throw a fit, throw a few things, calm down, and everything would be fine. This particular morning, though, something came over me. Very quietly, I put the rib roast back in the fridge, slipped on my shoes, grabbed my keys, and snuck out the door. I went to the movies and saw a double feature. I didn’t even take my phone. When I got back, no one was mad. They were actually all playing a game. “Where’d you go?” Alyssa asked. I told her I saw two movies. We ate something not a rib roast for dinner–spaghetti, I think, but I can’t remember. The next day, I carved the rib roast into steaks. We ate well that week.
The next year, I bought a rib roast at Publix. I didn’t marinate it or rub it down with spices. I didn’t make plans to slow roast it in the oven. I bought it, cut it into steaks, and served it on Christmas Day. It’s a tradition that I’ve continued every year, even this one.
Not all traditions come from positive experiences. Some are the children of necessity. Others, convenience. Even then, a few are the product of tragedy. Each tradition’s origin story is irrelevant to its importance. And it’s equally important how we make those holiday traditions our own.
We honor my grandmother on Christmas Eve with a lasagna, salad, and garlic bread each year on Christmas Eve. Because she cooked a feast on Christmas Day, the evening meal was a Stauffer’s Lasagna, Pepperidge Farms Texas Toast, and a caesar salad. I’ve prepared this meal every year, faithfully–until this year. This year’s lasagna was a from-scratch preparation. I used only two ingredients anywhere near “pre-cooked.” The tomatoes and the noodles. Even still, I stewed down two cans of San Marzano tomatoes and hand-blended them with a can of crushed, fire roasted tomatoes. It was an all-day affair, and I adored every second of it. I added to the kitchen chaos a day-long French onion soup made from a recipe on the back of Robin and Brad’s Christmas card–a new tradition.
No matter their origin story, embrace your traditions. Celebrate the holidays with family, even when it’s a little traumatic. Years later, you’ll be thankful you did.
Happy Holidays from the DeVault family to yours.
P.S. Because I know two people who’ve asked before, I decided to share my lasagna recipe:
Papa Michael’s Favorite Sixteen-Layer Lasagna |
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OPTIONAL: 1 – TSP, red pepper for heat. Also, can substitute hot Italian sausage. |
 Chop herbs and dice onion. Keep all ingredients separate. Heat pan over medium-high heat. Melt butter but don’t brown. Sautée onions until translucent, then add 5 TBSP of the garlic and continue sautéing until fragrant and garlic begins to cook down. Meanwhile, empty San Marzano tomatoes, crushed tomatoes, and tomato paste into a large stock pot and blend with hand-blender until relatively smooth. Add fire-roasted tomatoes and hit lightly with hand blender until larger chunks are cut smaller.
Once onions are slightly yellow and garlic has cooked down, add all contents of the pan to the sauce. Heat contents of pot over medium-high heat until bubbling–almost boiling–and reduce heat to medium. Add 1/2 cup of water to keep sauce from thickening too much. Using the onions pan, brown hamburger and Italian sausage. As the hamburger is browning, add 1 TBSP each of the herbs, 1/2 TBSP salt, 1 TBSP black pepper, and the smoked paprika. Stir frequently and using your wooden spoon, separate large chunks into small bits. While meat is browning, turn your attention back to the stock pot. Add 3 TBSP each of basil, oregano, and parsley, salt, pepper, and sugar to the pot and stir well. If sauce is too thickened, add water to thin. As soon as the meat is browned, remove from heat and set aside. Add about 1/2 cup of the meat, two good wooden spoonfuls, to the sauce. Continue to cook over medium heat until flavors begin to combine, approximately 30-45 minutes. Stir frequently. Once the flavors are combining, cover and reduce heat to simmer for another 30-45 minutes. Assembly Note: The order of layers of lasagna is important. This will impact how the flavors combine, as well as the quality of slice you produce. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Begin assembly by coating a 13×9 pan lightly with canola oil. Under no circumstance should you use olive oil, as this will overpower some of the more subtle flavors. Layers 1-4: Using a ladle, spread a layer of sauce on the bottom of the pan, just under 1/4″ deep. Place one layer of noodles over sauce. Then add a light spread of mozzarella just under 1/4″ deep. Spoon small balls of ricotta, roughly the size of an unshelled peanut, every 1.5 inches across the top of the mozzarella. Sprinkle sparsely with some of the remaining basil. Layers 5-7: Atop the basil-cheese layer, place another layer of noodles. Atop those noodles, spread 1/4″ of the sauce. Top with similar peanuts of ricotta, and sprinkle sparingly with oregano. Layers 8-11: Place another layer of noodles. Atop this layer, spread ricotta. (Helpful Tip: Place noodles on a flat surface and ricotta onto noodles before placing.) Sprinkle mozzarella and add parmesan, for a total cheese depth of 1/4″. At a very light bit of sauce–just enough to make the cheese a little pink, and sprinkle sparsely with parsley. Layers 12-13: Place another layer of noodles. Spread generously with sauce. Sprinkle sparsely with basil. Layer 14-16: Place final layer of noodles. Spread very lightly with sauce. Top sauce with 1/4″ of mozzarella and parmesan. Sprinkle lightly with basil, oregano, and parsley. Cover tightly with tented aluminum foil. Critical: the foil has to be tented. Your cheese will melt and rise slightly. You don’t want the cheese touching the foil. Place lasagna pan onto an over-sized cookie sheet and bake in center of oven for 1 hour. Remove from oven and let rest for ten minutes. Increase temperature to 425. Remove foil and, using a small paring knife, pierce any large air pockets in cheese. Return to oven and bake at 425 until cheese browns. Remove from oven and place lasagna pan on cooling rack. Let cool for 15-20 minutes before serving. Serve with garlic bread and caesar salad. |