Now that Katie is back from New Zealand, baking has resumed with a flurry.
Yesterday was Amy’s birthday, so it was champagne and Smurf-inspired colored cupcakes.
No one or thing was harmed during the preparation.
The Toronto Globe and Mail used to be a decent newspaper. I was enamored with the paper and its journalists as a genetics undergrad, was thrilled when I started writing regularly for the paper in the 
1990s, and then dismayed as the amount of crap published began to far outweigh the thoughtful stuf.
Once such sign of decline was the hiring of columnist Leah McLaren about a decade ago. Chapman was somewhat enamored with her self-indulgent depictions of young female life in hip Toronto; I thought it was bullshit.
Leah is still at the Globe as it continues its drawn-out decline, and wrote on Saturday that,
“This year for Christmas I poisoned the in-laws.
“They had flown all the way from Toronto to spend the holidays in London, dragging several extra bags of gifts across the Atlantic like a modern-day Santa and Mrs. Claus. In return, I had planned a feast for dinner.
“The centrepiece of the meal was a beautifully aged prime rib roast. I had purchased it, for nearly $100, from my local Notting Hill butcher, who specializes in organic, free-range, ethically farmed beef, lamb and poultry.
“I don’t eat much meat these days, but everything about that shop made me feel safe, from the quaint striped awning to the well-heeled locals queuing up for their premium giblets to the butcher with his starched, white-linen apron making small talk as he trimmed the leg of lamb. Even the store’s slogan (“Real meat naturally fed”) was heartening. What could possibly be more healthy, comforting or downright trendy than a rib roast for Christmas? As I stepped out of the shop with my several pounds of Grade A flesh in hand, I was determined to follow the butcher’s emphatic instructions: “Do not overcook.”
“And I didn’t. The prime rib was perfect – except for the 36 hours of stomach-churning misery it caused everyone who ate it.”
Leah’s lesson from all this? Don’t eat red meat.
One Moses Shuldiner responded with a letter in the Globe today, stating that Leah’s “mistake was to not inform herself of proper food handling techniques as recommended by the Toronto Public Health Department, which can be downloaded from the City of Toronto’s website. … After reading information from public health anyone can, for a nominal fee, write the test to become a certified food handler, ensuring mastery of the material.”
Shill. Mere mortals do not have to become certified food handlers to cook dinner for the in-laws, or anyone else. I cooked lamb on Christmas Eve and my 1-year-old ate it. No one barfed. Use a tip-sensitive digital meat thermometer. Next time, Leah, stick it in.
Sorenne eating lunch with dad, 11:00 a.m., Dec. 27, 2009.
It’s not always a food porn extravaganza around the Hubbell household. Sure, last night’s dinner was marinated and oven-grilled tuna steaks, with asparagus and roasted sweet potato fries, but with the 
snow sticking around, and Sorenne’s nose draining like a running faucet, sometimes it’s best to stick with basics.
Tomato soup made with milk in my Dad cup — because I have a daughter who goes to McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario — along with a grilled cheese sandwich made with whole wheat bread, a drizzle of butter, lots of extra sharp cheddar, prepared in a frying pan, and served with a pickle and ketchup.
The things you can find on sale at Dillon’s supermarket (part of the Kroger chain) in Manhattan (Kansas).
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For Christmas Eve dinner, which has no special significance other than we made it home from Minnesota before the storm hit, only to get walloped in Manhattan, I decided to cook the lamb – with a rosemary, Dijon mustard glaze, to a yummy and greasy thermometer-verified 140F. Accompanied with roasted potatoes and carrots, along with microwaved asparagus in garlic, olive oil and balsamic vinegar, with whole wheat rolls and a mushroom-fat-free-lamb-stock roux. Served with a 2005 Zinfandel from Napa Valley courtesy of Amy’s Aunt Jean and Uncle Mark.
Below is Sorenne doing her best Pebbles Flintstone impersonation on a lamb lollipop.
Nothing like a hot tub in a 15F blizzard to remove the grease and mess and stuff.
Christmas Day is usually T-bone steaks, but now I have to figure out if they are meat tenderized or not (good luck). More about that later.
Farmed salmon fillets with oil, lime, garlic, rosemary and white wine, baked in a 400F oven. Roasted butternut squash soup with apple, cinnamon, nutmeg potato and carrot, pureed, and using a homemade 
chicken stock (the stock makes the soup). Cheap whole wheat buns I picked up at Dillion’s at 7 a.m. after dropping Chapman off at the airport, topped with roasted garlic in butter, rosemary and some shredded Italian cheese (the bread, not the Chapman).
She’s also eating whole strawberries and chunks of melon. Her six teeth are helping with that.
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Hopefully. It’s from the creators of Super Troopers and Beerfest, two quality, underrated flicks, and the trailer for the film, opening Dec. 11/09, shows promise.
The wiki entry says,
The Slammin’ Salmon is a 2009 film by Broken Lizard. The film is about the owner of a restaurant initiating a contest to see which of his waiters can earn the most money in a single night, with a prize of $10,000. For the loser, a beating by the owner, Cleon Salmon (played by Michael Clarke Duncan). Kevin Heffernan will be directing the film; it is his first time directing a Broken Lizard film. "Salmon" was filmed in 25 days at the beginning of 2008.
Sorenne eating dinner with mom and dad, 6:00 p.m., Oct. 25, 2009.
Should have taken the picture last night with seafood surprise (in Manhattan Kansas?) and grandma here, but tonight will have to do:
Grilled rib eye steak with rosemary and garlic, grilled sweet potato fries, grilled Portobello mushrooms and red pepper, garlic-lime butter on home-made whole-wheat baguette, and sugar snap peas.
Sorenne eating dinner with mom, 7:30 p.m., Oct. 10, 2009.
The second Monday in October is Canadian Thanksgiving. In the U.S., it’s the fourth Thursday in November.
Why the difference?
Thanksgiving is a celebration of the harvest, and the harvest happens a lot earlier in cold Canada. But the annual gathering felt particularly Canadian last night, with plants being brought inside as the first frost hung in the air – ridiculously early for Manhattan, Kansas – and Don Cherry of Hockey Night in Canada on the tube as the Kansas State 66-14 football loss was too embarrassing to watch.
It especially felt like Canada because the Toronto Maple Leafs sucked – like they have for the past 42 years.
On the menu: turkey breast (overheard? Doug, how do you get it so moist? use a meat thermometer), stuffing (more vegetables than bread and used up all the sage before the frost), acorn squash stuffed with pecans, apple, lime juice and brown sugar (got the most raves); rosemary garlic mashed potatoes (thanks for the prep help, Jen) fat-free gravy via my coolio decanter, fruit salad (thanks Peter and Yasmin) and chocolate mousse (thanks, Jen).
Sorenne eating breakfast with dad, Oct. 9, 2009, 7:00 a.m.
Saute fresh rosemary, garlic, red pepper and garden-fresh tomato (the nighttime temperatures are cooler, but not quite freezing yet, when what’s left of the herbs and tomatoes will move inside). Add scrambled eggs, salt and pepper, cooking the salmonella out of the eggs. Serve with whole grain toast.
That’s toast. I like … toast.
Sorenne eating lunch with dad, Oct. 1, 2009.
Marinate farmed salmon fillets (I prefer aquaculture because it is more sustainable) in lime juice, garlic, olive oil and fresh rosemary.
Microwave 2 sweet potatoes, cool, cut into fry-like segments; baste in oil and rosemary.
Turn grill to high. Put fries on upper rack, salmon on direct heat; cook until an internal temperature of 120F.