Father's Day

You want to know just how wonderful my husband is? Well, in 2004 my dad died and my grief was crushing. I gained 40 lbs. and cried at the drop of a hat for about 2 years.  Chad got a .mac account in my dad's name and starting emailing me as my dad during certain milestones like my birthday.  Not only did Chad completely capture my dad's way of speaking, but he kept up the derisive insinuations my dad would make about him just to make me laugh. Notice how he refers to Chad as 'what's his name' and 'Chaz'.

My dad's nickname for me was Pie. I don't know why. I still miss my dad terribly, but the pain isn't as bad anymore. These emails my husband writes are so vivid and represent my dad's sensibility so accurately, that for a brief moment, he is with me again.  How lucky can ya get?

Father's Day, a holiday synonymous with grilling, is just around the corner. The image that comes to my mind is my dad having complete mastery over the grill with his grilling tools in hand. I'm sure this year there will be plenty of fathers wearing #1 Dad aprons standing by the grill ready to barbecue a number of different meats, hamburgers, and hot dogs. But how about taking over the reigns for dad this time around? Just tell him to relax and enjoy a beer while you grill up an impressive meal.

Lamb chops are perfect for grilling since the cut of meat is best prepared when seared on high heat. In this recipe, the lamb is marinated overnight in balsamic vinegar to give it that beautiful black crust once cooked. The vinegar also gives it a wonderful caramelized flavor. This recipe also works well for other meats too. And finally make sure to heat up the grill (or the pan) until it's sizzling hot. That's the key to perfectly seared meat. Go and fire up your grills for dad's day.

Everyone knows that the first thing a father teaches his son is how to roast a goose for Christmas.  Especially in a secular Jewish family.  But on Father’s Day, there’s nothing more American than Dad, stir-fried duck and Boggle. 

I don't have a middle name, and at the age of 24, it seemed time to get one.  We decided on "Danger," and went out and bought a propane fryer.  We gave thanks for deep-fried turkey, and for our remaining digits. 

But even though turkey bubbling in 350°F oil is exciting, nothing beats checking Sunday night's roast chicken for the 18th time.  Mom taught me that a watched pot never boils, but Dad taught me that a whole chicken, regardless of preparation, size or start time, cannot be finished before 9PM.

My father got me laid – twice. I’ll get to the food part in a minute.

The first was a cute, spunky doctor who worked with him in his Radiology department in a VA Hospital on Long Island. She told me she was in Los Angeles and my father had told her to call me. She added, laughing, ”Like for a good time.”

"Come on up", I said, "I’m in Benedict Canyon.  I’ll make you dinner." We bonded on my living room couch. Later, in the early hours of the morning I thought, “Gee, thanks, Dad.  A nice present.  And, it was my first doctor.”

The food. Growing up in a tiny town in upstate New York there weren’t any restaurants, just a luncheonette where if you asked for an egg salad sandwich the owner began by boiling an egg. The River Tavern Bar and Grill had a bar and no grill but in the summer you could get a pizza pie and in the winter they would defrost one for you.