My Dad's Nuts
No - I don't mean he's nuts as in "he's crazy"... I mean his nuts. And by "his nuts", I don't mean, well, that would be plain wrong.
But a touching moment occurred the other night. The spouse and I met my dad at a local Panini's for a couple of beers, and as my husband sits down on the bar stool, my dad hands over his nuts...in a bag.
How many father-in-laws would do that for their son-in-laws!
My dad said, "Here. I brought you some peanuts!"
We think it's because my husband helped my dad the other day by calling a window guy for him...but regardless, my dad shared his nuts.
As we drove home that night and each grabbed at my dad's nuts, thinking we were going to find shelled peanuts, our hands pulled out a variety of mixed nuts - shell-free. Cashews, macadamias, pecans, some peanuts.... So my dad had actually bought a can of mixed nuts and dumped some in a shopping bag.
Maybe it was because we were hungry, or maybe it's because we're nutty, but my dad's nuts never tasted so good.
Words of Endearment
Last night, as I've been doing all week, I was complaining about how 'pudgy' I've been feeling lately.
My husband spewed out this little gem: "Hon, you're every man's dream." (PAUSE)
"I hope I never fall asleep again."
Eggplant Wars
I think I started a veggie war of the eggplant variety between my mom and a long-time acquaintance of my parents'.
Note: my parents are divorced and have been for about 16 years now.
Last week, this lady (we shall call her EggHead for the sake of privacy) decided to show my dad her eggplant talents by offering to cook eggplant parmasian for him. She wanted to do him this favor since he gave her his rather large eggplant.
My dad is kind that way. He would give you his eggplant and the eggpants off his legs if you asked. So please. Don't. Ask.
As it turns out, Egghead's Eggplant Parmasian recipe was a hit with my dad.
"Dey were so good," he exclaimed to my husband and me over a few beers. "I must teacha you how she made dem. Well, she couldn't stand very long. She's a big lady. So I did most of the cooking. But dey so good."
"Sure! Sure! Someday...whenever..." my husband and I say as we chug our beer, being as noncommittal to a committment as one can be.
"I come over dis weekend. Sunday. Around 4pm."
So much for being noncommittal. We were locked in to learning the recipe, eggzactly as she had mentored him.
"Make sure you have Ragu."
This shocked me because, growing up, my dad would not come within 100 feet of a jar of Ragu. All sauce that passed through his lips and worked its way down his esophagus into his belly had to be homemade. Ragu was for us American wimps. Ragu was for sissies. Ragu was just swell with me.
"How about Prego? Prego's good, too."
"No...no... she used Ragu. Get some Ragu."
Chug.
"And some pasta. In case you want it on the side. And oil. Make sure you have oil."
So this past Sunday, I learned how to make Egghead's version of Eggplant Parmasian with my dad's large eggplant. While my husband chugged beer and toggled between watching the Little League World Series and the Cleveland Indian's game, I stood in the kitchen, chugging beer, while toggling between watching my dad slice his eggplant and staring at my cool 2-pint Heineken beer can. It's a very cool looking can. Looks like a chubby little barrel.
The recipe is as follows:
1 eggplant supplied by your dad
oil
Ragu
mozzarella cheese
a Cool-whip container filled with tomatoes that your dad boils for you the night before
your dad's frying pan because your pan wobbles when sitting on the stove burner
your dad's knife because your knives are about as sharp as slug
your dad's little microwave-able porcelain pan
your dad's garlic cloves - chopped up
a large tupperware
a cutting board
Place cutting board on counter. Hand dad's knife to dad. Watch dad place his eggplant in his hands. Chug some beer. Watch dad slice his eggplant into very thin coins. Pour some oil in dad's frying pan under dad's direction and turn stove on high to heat oil. Watch dad cut more eggplant. Chug some more beer. Open jar of Ragu and stick finger into sauce to taste it. Feel around for a mushroom chunk. Lick finger while dad's busy cutting his eggplant. Pour jar of Ragu into large tupperware under dad's direction, and add dad's night-before-boiled-n-skinned tomatoes. Stir and lick spoon. Add garlic salt to taste. Stir and lick spoon again. Watch dad as he places slices of his eggplant into hot oil. Watch dad's eggplant slices sizzle. Chug more beer. Go see who's winning the Indian's game. Mosy over to the fridge and look for items to put into sauce. Cut dad's garlic cloves. Cut large onion and try not to cry. Place garlic and onions into large tupperware of sauce. Stir with spoon and taste again. Eyeball the bottle of wine sitting on counter. Consider having a glass of wine after finishing the beer. Taste a slice of dad's eggplant as he pulls out slices and places on a paper towel to drain. Bring husband a few slices. Ooo and ahh over how good they are. Compare them to potato chips. Go back to kitchen and offer dad a beer. Watch dad finish frying.
Now the tricky part:
Watch dad as he layers his eggplant slices with layers of sauce and cheese. Wipe spattered oil off stove so that spouse doesn't spaz. Watch dad layer some more. Make small talk with dad over how tasty the concoction is looking. Offer dad a glass of wine. Listen to dad shout "som-ma-ma-bitch" as he realizes he forgot the lid to his baking pan. Look for altnernatives. Grab another large tupperware bowl to place over baking pan to avoid microwave splatters. Watch as dad lifts pan into microwave. Place big tupperware (your faux lid) over the pan, and set microwave for 10 minutes. Clean dishes while eggplant cooks. Watch dad walk back and forth between Indian's game and kitchen to check on the food. Watch dad lift lid. Notice sauce splashed all over the microwave in spite of faux lid. Hope spouse doesn't walk into kitchen. Offer spouse a large glass of wine.
Once the 10 minutes are up, have your dad remove the hot pot from the microwave using nothing but a papertowel. Admire his bravado and his inability to feel pain in his fingertips. Let cool for a good, long time (i.e. about the amount of time it takes you to drink 2 beers).
I have to say, it was REALLY tasty. The spouse and I ate it in one sitting, and my dad only took a small piece.
So now the war part:
I told my mom today about this new eggplant recipe that Egghead introduced to my dad.
Her reply: "Did daddy mention MY eggplant parmasian? I made some last week, too."
Me: "Um... no... but Egghead's was fresh in his mind and mouth."
Her: "well, MINE'S healthier! Egghead uses WAY to much oil. That's why she's so heavy. I used COOKING spray. And who needs Ragu?? I made my sauce FROM SCRATCH! And REAL eggplant parmasian is BREADED."
This coming from a woman who would serve up Ragu once a week - and from the same woman who claimed that the Kentucky Fried Chicken she served to my aunt from Montreal (my dad's sister) was homemade.
Yes, folks. My mom is THE COLONEL.
So there ya go. Now my mom is up in arms over Egghead's Eggplant. I'm thinking of holding a cook-off...just to egg things on a bit...while I sit back, observe, and drink more beer.
