Friday night bistro

I have been thinking about my Dad a lot lately he died two years ago this week and he was one of my favourite foodie companions. I thought in honour of him I would share with you some of our favourite food memories together.

I became an adventurous eater at an early age, in part because I was hungry – or at least that is what my Gramps said to my Mom when he explained why he fed me things like olives. But for the most part I grew up in a “meat and potatoes” family. My parents married young, and my Dad preferred simple meals in those days so my Mom would just vary the meatloaf a bit or maybe try a new salad dressing. As we all got a bit older though, we discovered a whole new world was waiting for us.

The first time my parents were in California they came back raving about avocados and nachos – two things that were totally foreign to us. In those days you couldn’t buy salsa, so my Mom made it with canned tomatoes, chopped onions and pepper flakes. Tortilla chips were hard to find but there was a specialty store in town that had ethnic foods. Avocados were expensive but once in a while we splurged and had a real Mexican feast. My Dad would stack the chips like a card house he said that the cheese melted better if the hot oven air could get in between the chips. (He was also convinced that you needed to use the tinfoil shiny side-in, to maximize on its reflective properties and make the heat stay in the package).

I think the barbecue was the beginning of my Dad becoming a foodie. Maybe the primal tradition of cooking outside over the fire got him in touch with his roots, or maybe it just worked better to have he and my Mom cooking in separate spaces. I do remember food having more flavours, more tastes as I got older. The world got smaller too, and more exotic foods became readily available. The rule in our house was you had to at least try everything. Someone like me with a bottomless pit for a stomach and a curious soul was in heaven with a rule like that to live by!

When I moved out on my own, I cooked often and invited my parents over. I cooked Hasenpfeffer once for Father’s Day (rabbit in a wine sauce, for those of you who never watched Bugs Bunny cartoons.) Any dish with such a cool name deserved to be made, I thought. Not knowing I would have to debone a rabbit and then slave over a hot stove, stirring, for hours was probably a good thing. My Dad just laughed when I told him what was required, and he did say he liked it.

When my Dad moved out on his own, he cooked often too and I was invited over many times. He became quite the cook, and he loved exotic dishes. He always had a beautiful table and he did great work on presentation, using garnishes and sauces with great creativity. It was funny though, for I don’t remember a dinner when he didn’t at some point swear under his breath because he had forgotten an element like chopped nuts to sprinkle or an extra bit of veggie. Even when he started to put little stickie notes above the stove there would still be something. He once phoned me the next morning when he found blanched asparagus in the fridge next to his coffee cream! We had a great giggle over that one.

We had a fantastic trip together to Maui and food was a central part of that, too. There was a waiter who did tableside service with many dishes, and we laughed till we cried the night he made us crepes in the shape of insects. He made me a butterfly, with wings of chocolate and caramel sauce and berry eyes. Then he made Daddy’s bug… first it was a SPLAT! of whipped cream as he explained the bug hit the windshield, then it was berry sauce, and smears of chocolate as the wipers went on. Once we stopped laughing enough to eat, my Dad swore that even though my plate was pretty, his bug tasted better!

My best food memories with my Dad come from our Friday nights together when I lived in Vancouver. We would meet at his apartment and share tapas at the little “bistro” table he had overlooking the trees in Stanley Park – every week would be a different theme, as if we were travelling to far-off places. We would nibble and critique and discuss other variations and possible wine pairings, and then as the evening advanced we would solve the problems of the world. I sure do miss those Friday nights at the bistro.

I miss my Dad often. But I smile often too, as I remember the many wonderful experiences we shared and all the things he taught me. More than anything I want to remember how he loved to share his passion for living, and that was never more evident than when we shared food at a table. Cheers, Daddy.

Kristin

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