I was cooking dinner the other night and thought of my Dad.
As he got older, he found cooking. And, he found TV cooking shows.
Now, there were a few shows he liked, and a LOT of shows he didn't like. Being a man of medicine and science, he was pretty well-versed in healthy cooking. And very well-versed in not-so-healthy cooking. I can hear him saying (with his 'incredulous' tone of voice), "Do you KNOW HOW MUCH BUTTER SHE USES?" Or "NOBODY NEEDS THAT MUCH SALT!" One day I asked him if he only mentioned those things when he was around us - nope - he'd yell it out all on his own, in his house, in front of his TV, even when nobody else was there.
He ALWAYS watched shows with a small spiral pad and a pen in his hand because he loved seeing how others did things, and how he could adapt a recipe for, ahem, sorry chefs, HIS way of cooking.
I found my Dad a bit (understatement) difficult as I was growing up, but as he aged he also mellowed - okay, truthfully so did I. We mellowed together. And one of the things I loved doing with him was being in the kitchen. He was my favorite sous chef. He could dice an onion perfectly with NO tears (still haven't figured that one out), he could peel potatoes or apples in 15 seconds, and he was the best turkey trusser ever.
He was also known to tell a story or a joke while we worked.
He'd say, "Have I told you this one? Stop me if I have..." and before I could say, "Um, yep, Pops, several times," he'd launch into it like we were brand new friends.
So - here's why I thought of him the other night. I was cooking something, and I got to wondering why I prepped a particular food the way I did. Basically, it was how I learned - it's the way I watched my Mom do it. (That was long before Dad discovered his love of cooking.)
Which lead me to miss Dad, especially in the kitchen, because I KNEW he'd have a story to go along with my wondering.
The story I thought of, that he told dozens of times, was about The Roast.
(*This is an approximation of his telling. What you're missing are the voice inflections, the hand gestures, and the gleeful glint in his eye.)
See, there was a young woman fixing a roast for dinner. Her (insert: partner/spouse/child/dog) asked her why she always cut the ends off of the roast before she put it in the oven. She said, "Well, that's how my Mom always did it. It makes it cook better I guess."
Being curious, the (insert: partner/spouse/child/dog) wanted to know why. So, the young woman called her Mom and asked. Mom's reply was, "Oh, gosh, I learned that from your Grandmother. She always did that. I think it makes the roast cook better. Why don't you call and ask her."
Being even more curious now, the young woman called her Grandmother and asked the same question: "So - I have a cooking question for you. Does cutting the ends off of a roast really make it cook better?" There was a long pause on the other end of the line and then the Grandmother said, "What? That doesn't make any sense, dear." When the granddaughter said, "But you taught Mom that way, and Mom taught me that way. So why is it?" THIS made the Grandmother laugh uproariously ... "Because I only had a small PAN, dear, and my roasts were always too long!"
He'd laugh, I'd laugh, we'd laugh together, we'd repeat the punch line a couple more times, we'd laugh again, and then ............. my Dad would say..........
"That reminds me. Did I ever tell you the one about the ... "
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