Dear Dad,
On Father’s Day, like every year, we celebrate your memory; this year we went to your favorite Cantonese restaurant, High Pearl, and ordered a bunch of dishes – dishes that I wish I could say were your favorites, but honestly, I don’t remember too much anymore about what you liked to eat. There was quite a lot of fried food on the table, and I know for sure that you suffered from gout, and restricted your diet heavily during the later part of your life, so I sort of doubt you were that big on honey walnut shrimp, or even the fried tofu and the salt&pepper squid.
I find it a little sad that day by day, details about you slip away from me. I knew this would happen; it’s been over 10 years since you died, and it was bound to happen sooner or later. But I still find it sad that every day brings me a little farther away from you.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve come to embrace food so fondly, so fully in my life. Though it was never the obvious reason why, as time goes on and bits and pieces of the past pop back in my mind, I realize just how much we shared over, through and about food. From learning how to cook at your elbow, to all the times you told me “People eat with their eyes first” – in essence, teaching me to always style my food!, to encouraging me to always be who I wanted to be, just be the best at it… I mean, now, with a clearer eye towards where I’d like to go in life, it seems that all along you were painting me a road map to this. You taught me the importance of food; you showed me that to share food with others is to say “I love you” and to cook for someone is the ultimate gift.
You taught me so much about how to be a lady (and yes, if you could see how I was sitting right now, I’d get scolded – but no one else is here!)), how to behave properly in a restaurant, how to make the master dressing from which all other dressings come, how to eat a lobster (which I in turn had the pleasure of teaching friends when we were in our early 20s), how to eat a sunny side up egg – in a restaurant and at home, because there is a HUGE difference, how to plate a sandwich attractively, how to make egg drop soup. My biggest regret in that regard: not asking you to write down instructions for more of those dishes you used to make. Not learning more. Not remembering your razor clams beyond that you made them once and taught me the name for them in Chinese because “they’re sharp, like a knife.” Not being more interested beyond serving my own purposes (I learned how to make egg drop soup because I used to beg you to make yours constantly, and one day, you got tired and just directed me how to make it instead of making it yourself). I still don’t know how to make shrimp with lobster sauce, but thankfully, R. learned and made it once a year, every year, after you died for a while. I’ll never remember more about the razor clams. I remember the ham steak. I remember the lobster salad. I remember steak, I remember all the sandwiches I made for you. I remember the flying shrimp. But nothing else about the razor clams.
If I close my eyes real tight and think real hard, I remember your scent. I don’t remember the exact sound of your voice, though I can sort of vaguely recall how you spoke English, super proper, super British, which never ceased to amuse me. I remember my first gyro, at that street festival you took me to on a day when you didn’t say it, but you and Mom pretended I was an only child. I remember “Blue” Lobster. I remember discovering how much I loved flounder. I remember the tartar sauce.
It may sound like I remember so many things, but I feel like I’ve forgotten so many more. Each day, a little bit more slips away… and I really can’t get it back. How long, then, till you’re completely gone?
That’s part of why I cook. To feel closer to you, to remember the things I can, to jar memories loose from their little hiding places… but most of all, …
because I’m hungry.
Love you always Dad,
your favorite child 😉
Yvo
TT says
very nice tribute to your Dad!
Alejandra says
Really beautiful and moving, Yvo.
SugarButter says
What a nice tribute to your dad! 🙂
Hungry says
This was really thoughtful, Yvo. It’s nice to read that your dad had such a wonderful influence on your life.
chakrateeze says
My grandfather was more my “daddy” than my father ever was. This past (Grand)Father’s day was hard. But this past July 5th would’ve been my grandfather’s 92nd birthday and it was incredibly painful. I wanted to make pot roast with NO parsnips (I added them once to surprise him. He was shocked okay!); collard greens with the vinegar and sugar sitting beside his plate (he was the only one in our family who liked it like that); baby carrots with dill, beer and a touch of maple syrup [Grade B, of course 😉 ]); mac & cheese made ]with Cabot’s Vermont extra sharp; strawberry shortcake with ice cream and a nice cold beer.
At least I wanted to, but between working and summer classes… I had to make do with a tomato sandwich. It’s just thick slices of ripe, homegrown tomato, white bread, mayo and a sprinkle of salt & pepper. Simple and delicious, it will forever bring tears of love and nostalgia to my eyes.
Miss you forever.
Tracie
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks for sharing, Tracie. It’s amazing how food brings us together with our loved ones, isn’t it?
kcijones001 says
beautiful girfriend. xo
kcijones001 says
Tears are also streaming down my face.
allison says
Very sweet letter to your dad! I definitely teared up and am thinking about my dad now.
Sarah says
You are such an eloquent writer and a wonderful legacy to someone who seems like he was a loving, knowledgeable and totally awesome dad. This post really meant something to me…it’s important to think about why and how you love someone in your life. You know exactly what your dad meant to you. Thank you so much for sharing.
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks, Sarah – I agree, there is an article somewhere about the different ways we show people we love them. It’s something I thought about a lot and cooking for someone is definitely one of my ways.
T.C. says
Great entry! Hope you continue to remember what you can and celebrate your Fond Fatherly Festivities.
Skippymom says
This is so beautiful. I love whenever you speak of your family [Hi Feisty Mom!] because the love and security is so evident.
I really never cooked growing up [unless you count Stouffer’s] and my father couldn’t boil water [that is not a joke.] I taught myself while in college and the very first meal I ever made my Dad was mushroom chicken. When I set it on the table he looked at my Mom and asked who had made it. She replied that I had and my Dad said “I am not eating this. Skippy can’t cook.” My Mom told him to hush up and just eat. He did and loved it. It was one of the best memories that I have. In the following years I got to impress my Dad with my chicken and dumplings, fried chicken and lasagna – all things my Mom never made because she said “He doesn’t like those things.” Turns out she couldn’t cook them. LOL.
Best compliment I ever [over]heard him say “This turkey is so moist. Just like my Mom used to make.” That was Thanksgiving and I was on cloud nine for weeks.
They call it “comfort food” for a reason I think.