My dad has been on my mind a lot more than usual lately. While I tell some personal stories on this blog, you may or may not know that my dad died when I was eleven. One of my favorite things growing up was my parent’s homemade pancakes. They didn’t look like the classic pancakes you might be familiar with… they were some sort of crepe/pancake hybrid. They were delicious with syrup, but even better with fresh fruit and Nutella. Made from staples we almost always had on hand and could be whipped on a few minutes’ notice. Before he died, my dad was the one who made the pancakes. In his tongue-in-cheek boastful manner he would proclaim that his pancakes were “top of the line!”
Aside from these delicious pancakes, my dad also introduced me to the simple joys of food. He would wake up very early before heading out to play tennis, racquetball or to see some early clients for his appliance repair business. He would usually watch Good Morning America and eat a big bowl of fresh fruit and plain yogurt. The rare mornings I got up while he was still eating, he would offer me some. While I preferred sweeter yogurts, I grew to love the mixture of the tangy plain yogurt and the sweet fresh fruit.
My dad was an incredible father. He made his family and his community high priorities. While he worked hard, he was always there for his family from coming home early to spend evenings with us, encourage us in our school work and help us any way he could or in any way we asked. Never could we doubt his love because he constantly showered us with affection.
Both he and my mom loved entertaining people and cooking for guests. They rarely made anything fancy, but they made good honest, fresh food and served it to people they loved. In honor of him I would like to invite you to share your stories of your dad and food. At random I will award two people a prize: I will help one local (DC area) celebrate their dad by cooking or baking with them in honor of Father’s Day and I will help one non-local plan a menu including recipes and a shopping list for a Father’s Day meal. Just share your stories and you could win foodventure for that fantastic father figure in your life.
One of my favorite memories of my dad and food is when I first witnessed the making of bulgogi, a Korean meat dish. The dish itself is simple, strips of beef marinated in soy sauce, sesame oil, garlic, green onions and other yummy things, but growing up away from any other Korean influence, I never felt connected to that part of my heritage. When my dad first made this dish, served with a bowl of rice and some stir-fry, it was the first time I had ever felt close to that side of my family. It still makes me happy, whenever that dish finds its way onto our dinner table, and the smell of the meat wafts and mingles with those of the other dishes. Dad's taught me how to make it, since I'm grown now, but my dish never tastes quite as good as his!
ReplyDeleteAnyone that knows me knows that I love to be in the garden as much as possible. This passion for vegetables, herbs and flowers comes from the 2 of the most important men in my life: my father and my late grandfather.
ReplyDeleteMy dad would take me and my brother out to the garden when we were little. As a small child, it was pretty spectacular to be surrounded by tomatoes, peppers, sunflowers and zucchinis. One year, my dad planted corn, and the stalks towered over me like Redwoods. Being in the garden was like being in another world. Worms and potato bugs were curious, wonderful creatures that my brother and I examined for hours, while Dad milled about the garden. And then there was harvesting! We never had a large garden, but I everything that came out of it was exciting. The zucchini grew a couple feet long (probably did not taste as good as smaller squash, was it was so cool!). Sunflowers were hung upside down and the seeds were shaken off when they were dried out. Tomatoes, peppers and greens were picked throughout the summer. My dad grew a garden almost every summer of my life. He taught me how to tie tomato plants to the stakes with old strips of sheets, how to tell when garlic is ready to be picked, how to keep slugs off the “goods” (drown them in beer) and how to best plant carrots (just kidding. To this day, neither of us can figure that out for some reason).
My grandfather, a 2nd generation Italian-American, knew how to do just about everything. (This is not an exaggeration.) Among other things he canned peppers and tomatoes, made apple sauce, bagels, pasta noodles, preserved olives and fruits, and cooked everything from meatballs to calamad. I am a vegetarian now, but I would do anything to have one of his T-Bone stakes (which I’m pretty sure was just doctored with salt, pepper, and garlic). I was blessed to have the opportunity to live with my grandparents for two years of my childhood. As hard as this may have been for my parents at the time, having this time with my grandfather influenced the way I cook, eat and appreciate a good meal with family and friends. Grandpa’s table was always open to whoever walked in the door. There was always bread, deli meat, olives or fruit (or even candy) ready in the event that an unexpected visitor came by during lunch time.
My father and grandfather taught me how to appreciate good food, as well as good company. I am really lucky to have grown up with such amazing food and loving people.
I always loved lowering the crabs into the boiling pot with the pops, watching them squirm and bubble as they were cooked alive. Just throw a little Old Bay and Tony Chachere's on top. Then its time to sit around the table with all the aunts and uncles for the endless crab picking sessions. He always showed me how to crack it just so to get to the good parts.
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