Dear Dad,
Another year has passed since you passed. This year has been particularly hard for me. With my inability to let go of things- the pack rat/hoarder mentality that I learned from you (mostly by your [in]actions, not like you taught me this on purpose)- I’ve had to make many decisions this year that didn’t jibe with that part of me. And you. It wasn’t easy.
It’s still so strange to me that so much has happened in the world- both mine and the world at large- that you are completely unaware of. That you’ll never know and I’ll never get to talk to you about. The first year after you died, I remember thinking holy shit, the World Trade Center is gone. Just like Dad. Maybe that’s an odd way of thinking of something so catastrophic and traumatic, but that thought crossed my mind. Now more happens every day and I wonder how you’d look at the world if you were still here. I don’t wonder how my life would be different- some major differences are obvious to me- but there’s no point in the what ifs. You’re not here. Wondering doesn’t change that.
It also doesn’t change the fact that I miss you. Yes, more some days than others, and I can go days without really thinking about you, but it’s always there. This dull ache that doesn’t go away. It doesn’t change. It’s just there, a part of me, like all your personality traits and flaws that somehow were imparted to me even as I didn’t notice them till years later.
But 11 years later, I am grateful that I can now talk about you, mention you casually, bring you up in conversation as relevant and not freak out or choke up and cry. I can at least talk about you and not immediately have to leave the room like in the past. I can at least do that. At least honor your memory that way. At least.
Sometimes I honor your memory in other ways. On a recent Sunday, I decided to give into the urge to eat sardines in tomato sauce. You shared this comfort food of yours with me once long ago, and I felt you were disappointed at the time when I didn’t fall in love with them. I got a strange desire to eat them the way you’d shown me, and I gave in easily.
I must mention that one of the things you’ve “missed” by not being here is my weight gain. Just a short two months ago, I was about 50 lbs. heavier than I was when you died. Wow, writing that just sounds shocking on its own. But over the course of the past two months, I magically lost 23 lbs. By not eating. My heart was broken, I lost my appetite entirely, and I fell out of touch – out of touch with nearly all of my closest friends, with my entire family, with reality, even. I fell out of touch with who I am, with that part of me that loves food passionately and can always find room for just… one… more… bite… if it tastes good, of course. I think it’s safe to say that I was clinically depressed.
A few days before the sardine craving hit, the sun broke through the clouds and almost miraculously, I felt something switch inside me. I am going to be okay, I suddenly knew with a force previously unfelt. Maybe it was your love shining on me, if I want to be melodramatic and a bit corny. Maybe it was just my hormones shifting back into place. Maybe… I mean, there are plenty of theories I can postulate, but I’ll leave it at the simple fact I was suddenly not feeling like my entire body was being ripped in two. I suddenly felt like things not just MIGHT be okay… they WOULD be okay. My appetite was still small, so I did what led to my weight gain in the first place: I decided that if I wanted to eat something, I would. What did it matter? I was the thinnest I’d been in 8 years.
Then, my appetite returned. Sunday morning, while I got ready to go to the store and pick up sardines in tomato sauce, my stomach did something it hadn’t done in well over 10 weeks.
It growled.
I almost didn’t recognize the sound nor the weird trembly feeling in my abdomen area. I was floored. Okay, then. My mission was obvious. Get sardines in tomato sauce and eat them.
My first meal I’d make for myself since my appetite returned, then, would be sardines in tomato sauce, Daddy-style.
Once, when I was about 10 years old, wandering the house, perhaps in search of lunch or perhaps just looking to sit and read a book as was my weekend habit, my father asked me if I was hungry. I responded somewhat in the positive, and he offered to make me something, explaining that he used to eat this when he was a poor student in college.
Soon enough, I was sitting at the dining table with him, in front of a dinner plate upon which was sitting a baguette, sliced open, and pressed inside were some red sauce coated pieces of… well, I didn’t know. They smelled a little fish-like, but it’s not like I was a particularly picky eater – I was raised to eat what was in front of me, and not ask too many questions. (This was especially helpful when faced with animal flesh you couldn’t identify; it was always better to eat first, ask questions later, or I never would have eaten snake, or turtle, or shark’s fin…) I picked up the sandwich while my father looked on eagerly, with his own identical plate in front of him, waiting for my reaction.
I took a bite, and I recall thinking… Okay. This is OK. It’s not horrible or disgusting, but it’s not wonderful or amazing. It’s just OK. I ate my sandwich, and he asked me what I thought. I told him that it was okay, and he asked if I wanted another one. I declined, and wandered away to continue reading whatever book I was in at the time.
I was 10, and not much for introspection or really, all that aware or observant of the impact of my actions and words on others. But in my mind, looking over this memory, filling in the gaps with my imagination and projected feelings, rewriting it to tell here, and creating yet another scene in my mind’s movie of my life, I see my 10 year old self walking away from the table, and my dad sitting at the table, making another sandwich for himself, and looking a bit wistful. A little bit sad, perhaps, that the comfort food, the food memory that he just tried to share with his favorite daughter didn’t go over quite as well as he’d have liked. We had a lot of the same food tastes, and often enjoyed the same foods (and sometimes, to the detriment of our relationship as we’d “fight” over the same treats).
This was just not one of them.
Many years later, I mentioned this to my mother, and she told me that he’d eaten this in college a lot because he didn’t know how to cook – this shocked me; my father? the awesome cook?! who owned three restaurants and loved to eat, loved to cook for others?! NOT KNOW HOW TO COOK?! – and he was poor, so he bought cheap cans of sardines in tomato sauce and ate them with rice or with baguettes. She thought it was funny that I brought this up, as perhaps she hadn’t known about that day… but I did recall that while I was growing up, any time I looked into our ‘pantry’ (a few shelves that contained nearly all of our canned goods), there was always, always at least one can of sardines in tomato sauce, though I never saw either of my parents eat them after that one occasion. My mother said that though we had enough money to eat better food now, it was something of a reminder of where he’d been in life, and sometimes… it was nice to eat the way you used to. Humble beginnings. (Well, that’s a laugh; my father’s beginnings in America were humble, but his actual beginnings… That’s another story for another time.)
And just a few short years ago, I read this book called What We Eat When We Eat Alone, by Deborah Madison [affiliate link] (which I talk about briefly here). I was deep in a chapter of my own life where I ate alone more often than I did with other people, and I found – still find – it incredibly fascinating what other people eat, especially when they are alone. How much effort we do or do not put into a meal for ourselves speaks volumes about a person, I think. (For the record, I run the gamut from no effort at all – standing over the sink eating whatever is in the fridge out of a container – to going all out, with courses, plating my food [even when I’m not photographing it], dessert, and wine pairings. I love myself deeply.) Within this book, I found mention of eating sardines in tomato sauce with saltines, or with plain white bread (I’ve since lent the book to someone, and I’m not sure who has it now). I found this fascinating; I’d never thought too hard about my father’s sardines in tomato sauce, but to hear that other people eat similarly – completely brought that whole memory rushing to the surface.
I even laughed, because typical of my father, he couldn’t leave it at saltines or plain white bread. He went with baguette, of course; if you knew my father, and none of you did, but he was a total snob. Yet another trait of his that I picked up unknowingly (SnB stands for Snobby Bear) – though I’ve curbed it hard over the years, and I’ve never been proven to be a food snob – I just found it hilariously in line with his snobby self that he would eat it with a baguette. Not just any bread, but a baguette (which, to me, is one of, if not the, best type of bread there is… and ciabatta).
Oddly, on a mid-October night while watching Saturday Night Live, I got this weird urge to eat sardines in tomato sauce. A few nights earlier, I’d been watching Parks & Rec, and Ben was eating a Cup o Noodles. I wanted it as soon as I saw it – I used to eat these things by the case – and I hadn’t had one in years. The next day, I saw another Cup o Noodles in Moneyball. And then another in a passing TV show. And then another in SNL. But in the middle of all that, I wanted sardines in tomato sauce. I didn’t understand it. I hadn’t liked it all that much when I had it 20 years ago. And while my tastes have grown and evolved and I eat all sorts of things now that I didn’t like to eat then, I just couldn’t connect the taste I remembered – yes, I remembered the taste and my reaction from 20 years ago – to something I’d enjoy eating now.
But dammit, I wanted it. I got myself into the store and stood there, looking at all the different kinds they offer now. In hot sauce. In mustard. In lemon pepper.
And there it was. Sardines in tomato sauce. What looked just like the brand my parents used to keep in our pantry. I picked it up, along with a hero (my neighborhood lacks for good baguette), along with a few other things, and headed home.
I sat down at my coffee table and opened the can, struggled with its stupid oblong shape and managed to spill a lot of oily tomato sauce on the wood table, cut my hand in the process. I cursed inwardly, hoping my table wouldn’t stink like fish forever. I got the can open, ripped some bread off the soft hero, and took a thick filet out of the can. I inhaled. The sauce on its own – I’d licked my fingers after it got on them – tasted alright. This would be good. Right?
I took a big bite of the bread with a piece of fish. Chew. Chew. I took another bite. Dipped the bread in the sauce. Chew. Chew. Ummm.
Yeah, no, this wasn’t going to work for me. I put down the bread, put the rest of the sardines in tomato sauce in a container and into the fridge they went. The bread went back in its bag, and I retrieved the other item I’d purchased from the store.
Cup o Noodles, with 290 calories and something like 1400 mg of sodium.
Sorry Dad. Some things just don’t change. I have my college comfort food, and you have yours. But know that everything I am, is directly because of you. The good and the bad, the awesome and the awful, the brag-worthy and the shame-inducing… I have mapped almost my entire personality back to you (and parts of Mom). I am my father’s daughter.
Love you always.
Rest in peace, Dad, never forgotten and always here in my heart, in everything I do and am.
Sarah says
This is so thoughtful, touching, and poignant. A beautifully written tribute.
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks Sarah!
Kcijones001 says
I heart you….
Feisty Foodie says
You know I heart you too, KC.
Nina says
This made me tear up. Partly because my Dad loves sardines in tomato sauce too. I was also introduced to sardine in tomato sauce samdwiches when I was a little girl. I too, remember eating it and not thinking too much of it. It was fine. I could take it or leave it.
But, I remember going away to college and seeing it at the supermarket one day and thinking, “Yes! I want that! Daddy used to make me those.” Now, I don’t want it all the time. But, every once in a while, I will get a little craving. It’s usually suppressed by all my other food pangs. But, every so often, I give in to it. And I find that I do enjoy them.
This tribute makes me feel just a little more connected to my own Dad. Thanks for sharing. =)
Feisty Foodie says
Food really connects us to those we love – and sometimes keeps us connected even long after we stop being able to pick up the phone to say hello.
kimberly says
The sardine dish struck a note in me because that was my comfort food in college. I paired it with a bowl of white rice, which was hard to come by in on the campus I lived in.
Beautiful tribute to your Dad and that you are seeing sunshine after 2 months of submission. Great fighter, that you are.
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks Kimberly.
Jay says
Love this.
Everyones comfort food is different.
I like sardines in tomato sauce, toasted on cheap sliced white, so they go a bit crispy and are warm, cold from the can dosent work for me.
If only they didnt stink.
Feisty Foodie says
Haha, yes, the smell is something else…
Corinne says
Yvo this was very touching and beautiful, although I could never eat those sardines.
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks Corinne – don’t worry, I won’t ever try to make you eat them. 😉
D says
Great post so happy to hear your feeling better.
Ulla says
This is so touching. Hugs. Thank you for sharing~
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks Ulla.
Hungry says
My “sardines in tomato sauce” is steamed white chicken made by my mom. She made it all the time for dinner because it was easy and delicious. I’d hover over the counter while she butchered the cooked chicken. Then hand over a piece of the thigh to me while the rest went onto the plate for dinner. The first piece. She always gave me the first piece. Love.
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks for sharing that. That is a lovely memory.
T.C. says
What a lovely letter for your father.
Not sure if I have eaten sardines with tomato sauce before. I’m sure I seen it though. Always good to have a comfort food to look back to.
For home, it had to be ground beef-and-eggs over rice and also the canned fried dace with black beans (which I had recently/ not too long ago). In college, it was cardboard cafeteria pizza, giant fountain sodas, and the occasional taco bell.
Feisty Foodie says
I have different comfort foods from my mom – one of which is the ground beef and egg over rice (fried egg). There’s a recipe posted up on this site somewhere from 2006 I think for that, even. 🙂
Some comfort foods are not meant to be eaten anymore… McRib… Ha! 😛
T.C. says
I usually don’t like mixed veggies (esp frozen) with beef as a dish. Choy sum, chinese broccoli, or other greens is fine though.
http://feistyfoodie.com/2006/09/19/comfort-food/
Fine, more McNuggets for me!
Anna says
As soon as I read the title I thought of my father, he to introduced me to sardines in tomato sauce when I was little. I found them a little icky but would try and enjoy them because he liked them so much and my mum and brother wouldn’t touch them! I guess it was the one thing that only he and I would eat, and I grew to enjoy them. I still get a craving for them sometimes… but the me memory of them is always better than the real thing!
Thank you for sharing your story, and I’m so glad you are starting to re-discover yourself!
It’s funny that the same (not so awesome) food brings back such strong memories of fathers- from one side of the world to the other (I’m Australian). The power of food 🙂
Feisty Foodie says
Thank you for sharing your memory as well! Food is an incredibly powerful tool for remembering the past and people who may have long left our lives. It really is amazing.
Alejandra says
This is such a beautiful post, Yvo. I have a similar food connection with my grandmother that I’ve been meaning to write about for a while. When I was a little girl, she used to feed me coffee with cheese. Basically she would prepare the coffee, sweetening it and pouring in hot milk, and then drop in a large square of cheddar cheese, which would melt and absorb the sweetness from the sugar. After drinking the coffee she would serve me the cheese on a Puerto Rican style baguette (called “pan sobao”) or a soda cracker. It was such a weird, strange, but absolutely delicious treat. Years passed and I went to college, and one morning I remember getting the strangest craving for coffee and cheddar cheese. I hadn’t craved or even had it in years but I went to the store, bought the things I needed, and made myself a cup of it, all the while feeling like my grandmother was close to me. The reason I bring it up is this: a few hours after I did this, I got a call from my dad letting me know that my grandmother had passed away that morning. I was devastated, but I had this feeling like it had really been her. It was like she stopped by to say good-bye and it felt like such a gift that made it possible to get through those early weeks of mourning. There’s more the story that I’ll probably write one day (not in your comment section ;), but for now I just want to let you know that I really do believe in that food connection and the way it has to reach out through barriers that we may not understand at times when we need it most.
Feisty Foodie says
Alejandra, thank you so much for sharing! This brought tears to my eyes. I have some ‘odd coincidences’ relating to my father’s passing – not quite as immediate as your experience, but similar. I think we would have a great time sharing these stories over coffee – maybe I could even try the cheese thing. It sounds very interesting though definitely not something I would think to do. I love how food really connects people so intangibly and strongly.
Case says
My parents use to eat this all of time too! I find it “just okay” right out of the can; but my mom always spruced her version up which made it quite tasty with garlic, onions or shallots, a bit of sugar, and a couple splashes of Maggi. Yum! I think I’m gonna go to the market after work today.
Feisty Foodie says
Thank you for sharing that, Case! I love that me sharing this one small story about my father has encouraged people to go and revisit foods from their past as well. I hope it brings you joy, and yes, your mom’s version sounds rather tastier than what I ate 😉
Niko says
Yvo, Very nice post. From the heart and really engaging and well written.
PS – I eat sardines (TJ’s primarily).
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks Niko 🙂
Lizz says
:*)
Beautiful!
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks Lizz!
sugarbutter says
What a lovely letter to your dad.
My grandmother used to make turnip cakes for me when she knew we were planning to visit. Now when I see turnip cakes on a dim sum cart, I always flash back to those days when she’d set a plate of these in front of me and keep me company while I ate. Those are my sardines in tomato sauce.
Feisty Foodie says
Thanks for sharing. Lovely memories we have…