Dad also makes really good bachelor food. He was thirty when he married my Mom, and Grandma Lois insisted all her boys learn how to cook. He makes this crock pot beef stew that smells so good, your mouth is watering for hours before you can eat any. He makes hoagie sandwiches that rival anything that Dagwood Bumstead has ever built, in truth he is a hoagie master. Dad has never gotten too crazy about the barbecue grill, but his hamburgers are truly astonishing, a masterful combination of hoagie-building skills and grilled meat.
Dad’s a bit of a stickler for fresh, delicious bread. A good bakery loaf of French bread goes with any meal. They make the best sandwiches, they make the best garlic bread, you can rip big chunks out of them and dip them in the broth of the beef stew, and you can grab a hunk of cheese, an apple and your bread and have a lunch that will make you the envy of all the other guys on the construction crew. I can’t remember the last time we had a pasty, lifeless, vitamin-enriched and taste deprived Wonder bread in our house. I always felt kind of sorry for the kids who’s Moms thought that Wonder bread, processed cheese, processed bologna, and a pudding snack were a good lunch. There was no heart in their food, no umph. I knew thoes poor kids were going home to dinners of overcooked, gray Broccoli and Cheeze Whiz artificial cheese flavored topping.
I love good food, and most of my love of gourmet food comes from my Dad. My love of good bad food comes from Dad as well. Dad taught me that the simple joys of a good, smothered burrito at a greasy diner is something that, in its own right, is just as good as the most delicate morsel I could eat at a five star restaurant. My father loves food. He is a product of the fifties, and in his mind men eat big servings of meat and potatoes, rich men eat larger servings of steak and asparagus. Wealth, the good life, and food are all tightly wrapped together in his emotional landscape. Dad enjoys the subtle nuances of an A&W root beer float more than anyone I have ever met.
Sadly, Dad’s health isn’t the best. Between his love of eating, and his lack of any sort of healthy activity, he’s having the classic problems of a baby boomer who’s reached his boom. He’s had a heart attack, he’s overweight, he’s sick a lot. His tremendous strength is just a shadow of what I remember, not only as a little girl, but even of what it was five years ago. I am afraid that my father’s love of the good life, of the rich and wonderful food he’s loved for so long, is going to kill him.
I have no problem changing my eating habits. I don’t diet, and I’m a gourmet. Instead of longing after the refined flour and sugar that I know isn’t healthy for me, I simply relish the fresh, crisp vegetables I can get at the farmers market. I love the delicate flavor of gently steamed broccoli, with a bit of lemon juice drizzled over it, next to a thick, lean steak. I enjoy the way a mango feels as I pull the flesh away from the pit, the way it tastes. I can happily live off of salads alone- the wealth of textures and flavors that endive, radichio, baby spinach leaves, and all the different kinds of lettuce combined can give are something I can appreciate, on top of the different toppings. Green onions, olive oil, different vinegars, tuna, grilled salmon, avocado, different kinds of sprouts, fresh baby tomatoes, tamatillos- when you include imports from Asia and Central America, the list is truly endless. I can still enjoy myself because I’m satisfying my gourmet with quality, fresh ingredients.
I don’t know if Dad can see that this isn’t some sort of deprivation, that this is simply an expanding of a palette to include more of the good things in live. If he can’t make the transition, I can’t see him getting healthier. I have never heard of anyone who feels deprived doing anything for an extended period of time. I do know that if he doesn't, he doesn't have long to live. I can only hope that the next time I go to the Farmers Market, he’ll be beside me, thinking of all the things he can do with fresh produce, a little olive oil and some garlic.
