Father's Day

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.

When I think of my dad -- and if you know me, you know I always do think of him – it’s often Saturday morning and Duke is surrounded by his “crew” in his regular booth at Nate n’ Al’s. But next Sunday, Father’s Day, I’ll think of Duke as he was most Sundays – in his other regular booth at Matteo’s. What can I say, he liked to eat and he loved to schmooze.

I realize I write WAY too much about my dad. But, here is a story you haven’t heard. One night at Matty’s, as we called this trapped-in-a-time-warp, Rat Pack era, Italian bistro on Westwood Boulevard, my dad was eating in his regular red leather booth; first to the right as you walked into the “correct” (celebrity-filled) room.

I should mention that Sunday nights at Matteo’s was tradition among a certain show business crowd. It wasn’t unusual to see Sinatra dining with Steve & Eydie, or the Reagans, or even Clint Eastwood… but to me, Sunday at Matteo’s was mostly about the comedians.

On this night, Red Buttons walked in. My dad was always the first person anyone greeted. He was hard to miss. Short of stature, but big of mouth, and loudly holding court at a spot you had to pass to enter. Except for Shecky, my father called all comics he knew by their last name. It was just Dangerfield. Or Youngman. You get it.