My dad wasn’t much of a cook! He even burned the bacon. His idea of making baked beans was to put them in a pan of boiling water – in the can with the top still on. This might actually work, although the only time I remember him doing it, he forgot about them, the water boiled down, the can exploded (EXPLODED!!!), luckily no one was in the kitchen at the time, and a lot of the baked beans flew up to the ceiling and rested there. I do not remember if my mother thought this was funny.
He was a great barbeq-uer but that’s a different story.
He, also, had a ridiculously high metabolism and ate more than anyone in the family practically until his dying day, (seemingly without much of a weight problem, or cholesterol problem, I might add.) When we were little, he used to get up in the middle of the night sometimes, wake one of us, and we’d tiptoe down to the kitchen for a slice of home-made pie or chocolate cake OR Dad’s one and only specialty not cooked on a grill -- although curiously with grill in its title -- grilled cheese sandwiches.
My dad had a theory that one of the reasons people wake up in the middle of the night is because they’re hungry, so if you ate a piece of pie or cake or a grilled cheese sandwich (preferably with a glass of milk), you would fall right back to sleep. Note: I have not tested this theory since childhood.
One of my favorite desserts growing up were these little square tea cakes from 
A roasted chicken goes a long way in our house. It is one of those easy dishes that requires very little prep. Stuffing the cavity with a whole lemon cut in half, a whole garlic bulb cut in half, some thyme, salt, and pepper creates the simplest of flavors. Smear the body with soft butter, lots of kosher salt and fresh ground pepper, toss in the oven for about an hour and a half. Serve it with some roasted carrots and some sort of green and dinner is on the table for just a few bucks.
Growing up there were just some things
that this little pudgy boy would not eat. High on the short list of
food items, along with sour cream and avocados, was this recipe called
Capirotada. No matter how hard they tried I just wouldn’t move past the
strange blend of ingredients that went into this Mexican bread pudding.
On December 24th, 1963, Philadelphia was hit with a rip-roaring
blizzard. I’ll never forget it. By evening, the drifts were well past
knee-high. Snowflakes swirled in the halos of streetlights. Driving
anywhere was out of the question. Wrapped up in coats, boots, gloves,
hats and scarves, and loaded down with bags of presents, my girlfriend
Bonnie, my mother and I set out on foot for Aunt Tilda’s house. What would have been a 7-minute drive turned into an hour trek. I
remember laughing so hard we could hardly walk. We knew we were crazy
to be slogging through such a storm, but we were determined to reach
our destination. It was Christmas Eve, and Aunt Tilda had prepared the
traditional Italian Feast of Seven Fishes.