I love my dad, I love him and all his crazyness to bits. But I hate cooking for him. He once referred to something I was making as resembling fish bait; I can’t remember what it was I was making, but I do know that it wasn’t fish, and it wasn’t supposed to (and probably didn’t) look that bad. He peers into pots and pans with his nose wrinkled up, like a child that’s just eaten a sour sweet. He comments (make that complains) about EVERYTHING. Previously, this would be followed by him going off to bed and sulking about there not being any dinner. Now he demands to be part of the cooking process. This I can’t understand, as he very enthusiastically stirs and prods and whisks, but he does not for one second stop moaning. He proceeds to explain why this meal is nothing like the food his mother used to make him, why saturated fats are the good fats, and the merits of rys, vleis and artappels. He tries to force all his cooking methods onto a dish he doesn’t even know the name of, and then when I refuse, he mutters to himself while glaring at me and the stove. It used to be my goal to cook something he would enjoy just to prove him wrong for jumping the gun, now I desperately try to cook something he likes so that he’ll eat it and keep quiet for a few minutes!
Lately I’ve been on a good streak. This is a man that will eat something and enjoy it, and give you a sort of grunted “it’s edible”. I though luck was on my side; the previous night mom had made a curry that dad actually used the words “very good” to describe, so I thought I’d caught him at a culinary vulnerable point. Alas, by the following morning he had slipped into an insecure state due to his concerns that my mother’s curry may be better than his. I invited my sister for dinner as reinforcements; I’m hoping the peer pressure of everyone else enjoying food around him will inspire him to look at it in a new light. But I needn’t have worried, as he knocked me for a six when he took a bit of his specially made, individual chicken pie (his has to have more meat and pastry than everyone else, and not as much veggies), and responded with a “MMMMMMM!” followed by shepherding everyone into the kitchen, “Have you tasted this??”.
Now, I’m quite fond of my chicken pie, and my friends are quite fond of my chicken pie, but it’s not thaaaaaat good. I wondered if perhaps, tired of his moaning, my mom had snuck some special herbs in his pie when I wasn’t looking.
“This, THIS is restaurant quality!” became his new phrase for the night.
The puff pastry was store bought and I’d forgotten to baste it to brown it. The veggies weren’t even cut uniformly. This was most definitely not my finest dish.
“We are in the wrong industry, we should open a RESTAURANT!”
Oh lord.
“We could serve this food you know, and then it’s just word of mouth. We open up and serve 5 good meals, and those 5 people go and tell another 5 people...”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m chuffed that my dad is enjoying our cooking at last, and of course I’d love to have a restaurant one day, but the last time my dad spoke like this he had a midlife crisis and came home randomly one day to inform us that he had signed the lease for the pub he was opening. I’m currently trying to manage this pub as he directs himself through his late-life crisis. I’d at least like to cash in my shares from pub, travel the world, and wait until my own life crisis before I open a restaurant thanks!
Never the less, here is the promised series of recipes:
and coming soon....
*Orange and almond chiffon cake*
*Bestest banana bread*
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