Since I was young, I have always looked up to my father. From his wide knowledge of trivia to his tastes in music to his love of golf, I have always latched onto his interests and taken to them myself. But one trait my dad possesses that I have never been able to grasp is his cooking. No matter the season or occasion, it seemed as if cooking meals was a breeze to him. Many of my fondest childhood memories revolve around my dad’s cooking with my family. Among these, summer dinners on the back porch of the family cottage in Bay View, Michigan stick out most in my mind. While I knew my dad could cook much more complex dishes, the warm feelings evoked by thoughts of those simple dinners of hamburgers, corn, watermelon, cherries, and lemonade seemed like a perfect the perfect meal to cure the funk caused by a long, cold Michigan winter.
As I began to draw up the menu for the meal, I realized that many of the summer delicacies that I craved for would be extremely expensive or impossible to obtain during a cold Michigan winter. On the forefront of these cravings were sweet cherries. These dark red cherries are a huge crop in northern Michigan and are a staple of almost all of my summer meals. I remember 30 minute drives along the Lake Michigan shore with my grandmother to pick up pounds and pounds of the sweet treats. For my meal, I envisioned making cherry barbecue sauce, cherry pie, and cherries to eat on the side as well.
I soon realized that my cherry-based meal was more fantasy than reality. If I was able to find sweet cherries, they would be extremely expensive. My idea of the perfect meal was strongly based on cherries, so how could I make it without them? After a lot of thinking, I thought back to my dad’s cooking. The idea of cooking a beloved meal with my dad quickly erased the thoughts of cherries in my head. With the simple summer meal in my mind, I headed out to Meijer to find the ingredients.
From the very beginning, shopping at Meijer was a confusing and hectic experience. Having not shopped at a supermarket since this past summer, the busy crowd of a Saturday afternoon was quite overwhelming, especially when I was unsure of what to purchase. After putting my head down and trudging through the store, I left with asparagus, watermelon, leaf lettuce, onions, and Kaiser buns (I didn’t need to buy beef at the store, as a freezer full of it was waiting at home). I knew that my dad disliked asparagus, so I saw this as the perfect opportunity to reintroduce a dish to the person who has had such a strong influence on my culinary tastes. Heading to my parents house, I was eager to begin cooking the meal I had been thinking about so much for the past day.
Enlisting the help of my dad, I began with the first order of business: making the barbecue sauce. I chose my parents’ house because they have a kitchen filled with all the pots, pans, spices and other random ingredients I would need for the meal. What I neglected to remember was that my parents just moved from the house where I grew up, so locating all of the materials I needed was difficult. Following the directions of Food Network recipe, I was adding ingredient after ingredient: ketchup, sugar, brown sugar, lemon juice, apple cider vinegar, and more. Luckily enough, most of these ingredients had been put away in a cabinet where I could easily find them. When I couldn’t find onion powder, my dad was there to the rescue by suggesting that I use onion salt instead. Situations like these occurred several more times during the cooking process, so it was nice to have my own Virgil to give me guidance when I needed it.
Once all the ingredients were thoroughly mixed, I was surprised to find that the tomato-based sauce resulted in a sweet taste with thick consistency; just what I was aiming for. After letting the sauce simmer in the microwave on low power for a few minutes, I went to work on the asparagus. I decided to roast the asparagus in the oven, then covering it with tuscan herb olive oil, fresh ground pepper and parmesan cheese. Feeling confident in the two concoctions I had just made, I moved onto the now defrosted burgers.
Burgers were the only dish that I felt very comfortable making, as they were the only dish on the menu I had a decent amount of past experience with. About two summers ago, a few friends and I decided to begin grilling in a small grassy circle surrounded by streets near my cottage. We call it “island grilling”, and it has become the only real place where I have been able to experiment with cooking. One creation that I decided to bring from island grilling to my perfect meal was worcestershire infused burgers. I saw this as another opportunity to introduce a culinary element to my dad, as he asked me a few questions about the preparation as he poured worcestershire into the bowl where I was mixing the beef. It sure was a funny experience having my dad ask me questions about how a dish was prepared; an 180 degree turn from the usual.
Still, I had to ask many questions, like: “How long should these cook?” or “how much goes into this dish?” Aside from these general cooking questions, my dad would occasionally interject with a tip on how to prepare a certain element. He always remained respectful of the learning experience that I was going through, though, and I really appreciated his willingness to do so.
Slicing the watermelon, peeling the lettuce and cutting the onions all at the same time distracted me from the burgers, but my trusty sous-chef (dad) was there to save the day and take them off the grill when they were just at medium temperature. I found myself bouncing around making sure every dish was getting prepared in time, which made me realize how much work it is just to pull off a simple meal. Right then, I gained a lot of perspective from my dad’s job as the family cook and a lot of respect for all the years that he spent toiling in the kitchen with ease.
Once the final touches were made, it was finally time eat! I had totally forgotten that we were going to be eating the food as I was so intent on finishing each item that needed to be prepared. When I was able to sit down, I was surprised to see all of the food that I had just prepared. As my dad, brother, and host brother began to eat, I was reminded of warm summer evenings on the back porch of the cottage. “I wish we could eat this on the porch,” said my dad. I was absolutely content, responding: “I’m fine just where we are.” I had just cooked my first full meal, and I was able to share it with my family. I learned that no matter how simple the meal, the hard work and being able to share it with the people I care with most is the perfect version to me.
From the original dreams of cherries to replacing ingredients to hunting for misplaced pots, things never went as smoothly as I would’ve liked. But being with my dad throughout the process made it all worthwhile. As we were clearing the table, my dad smiled and complimented me on the meal. After 19 years, I was finally able to share my first real cooking bond with my dad. After all these years, I was finally able to cook a meal for my dad, and that was the best feeling of all.
No comments:
Post a Comment