In my family, food is life. If we aren’t thinking about our next meal, we are talking about it or planning what we want to eat next. That’s why after my dad passed away in 2019, it was strange when I didn’t feel like eating. After all, this was something we did together.
Let me be clear, my dad never touched a pot in his life. The only thing I think he ever made for me or my sister was tea. And he made that very well, with just the right amount of cream and sugar. But nothing else. He didn’t feel comfortable in the kitchen, and as the youngest in a family of five, I think he was spoiled rotten by his Italian born mother and others who treated him like the baby in the family he clearly was for most of his life.
But boy did he ever feel right at home when it came to dining. His way of introducing us to new cultures and places was always through food first. He was once offered a posting in Bangkok and brought us to the only Thai restaurant that was then in the region, not far from Baltimore. I had never tasted such complex flavors and loved the sweet and sour contrast of the fish sauce and coconut milk. I was suddenly excited to go, even though it meant leaving friends behind and school. But he ultimately decided against moving to Thailand, and instead came to a decision to move to a place he had more familiarity with from his job – Turkey.
The first day we arrived in Ankara, I recall being taken to a restaurant called Mangal which means barbeque in Turkish. There, platter upon platter of ekmek (bread), fruits, meats, and vegetables came forth from the kitchen. The colors of the plates and the tapestries on the walls were amazing and unique and the people were wonderful and friendly. It was an incredible introduction to a place I had a lot of uncertainty about. Sitting right next to us was our Lufthansa flight crew from the plane we had flown in on only hours earlier. Clearly, my dad was in the know about where the best places were in the capital city and he probably did his homework well before we arrived.
Growing up with my dad meant that we always were treated to amazing meals. He may not have been able to cook, but he enjoyed taking us to many places and I credit him a great deal with a lot of my interest in international foods.
He always said he enjoyed my cooking. Towards the end of his illness, I made him a meal, but he struggled to be able to come into my house. It turns out that virtually every entrance is up a flight of stairs and he was very weak. He seemed more upset than anything that he might not be able to come over again. In fact, it was his last visit to my house.
This weighed on my mind as I considered how I was going to feel and what I was going to do after his passing. No one ever talks about grief. People are expected to be upset for a few weeks following loss and pick themselves up and join the land of the living. Some people take longer. Given the length of my dad’s illness and our close relationship as a family, I probably fell more into this group than I was willing to admit.
As it so happens, John and I had planned a trip to Italy and it came not long after my dad’s funeral. I decided to bring some of my dad’s ashes with me for the trip and the whole flight over, I felt like he was with us. This was the happiest I had felt up until that point. We explored two regions and enjoyed amazing foods and wine and I felt like my dad was with us enjoying everything. I took lots of pictures, and decided I would recreate some of the best meals we had when I returned home.
But returning home, I had a feeling deep in the pit of my stomach of emptiness instead of hunger for good food. I wondered if by making some of the things my dad enjoyed, I might feel the way I felt in Italy. He absolutely loved grilled meats. He was probably the only dad in my hometown that never manned a grill, but he enjoyed that John was good at it and even treated us to our new grill, so he could enjoy what we could offer.
I started on a series of “dad’s greatest hits” meals, covering some of the things he loved – from rigatoni with meat sauce and beef bourguignon to Turkish kebabs with lamb and peanut butter pie. John, observing my efforts, felt that I was going too heavy in the direction of making desserts and chided me on having too many sweets lying around that were not healthful for him or the boys. It probably did seem like I was overdoing it, but as long as I kept cooking, it felt like my dad was there and his sweet tooth was legendary.
I learned that through food, I found a happy distraction from my sorrow and that the comfort I had always had in the kitchen, was once again, proving to be my joy. With every taste of a good dry martini or a thick, juicy steak, it felt like my dad was with me every step of the way guiding me towards a way to feel whole.
My dad meant the world to me. He wasn’t an easy person to get close to when I was young. I think he was uncomfortable with children and because he traveled so much, he wasn’t around a lot. I felt like he had some recognition of this though and made an effort when I was older to be different. He was generous, thoughtful and always helped me the second he knew I needed anything. I appreciated that he was often quiet in his manners and rarely spoke up about his opinions. In a family of mainly women, he learned early on that no matter what he said he would most likely not get a word in edgewise. His presence is constantly missed – particularly at dinner. I’m so appreciative that we had that last trip to New York together. That I got to introduce him to a new ceviche place that he loved and we went to Le Bernadin and ate like royalty. In the end, it turns out he was fun and adventurous and I am grateful that he opened my eyes to other places and a world beyond where we lived. Maybe it was inevitable that in my grief, I would clutch at what had brought me comfort in the past. For now, I continue to cook and make all of these terribly sweet, sugary treats that John wishes were not in the house. I cook for all kinds of reasons – but the most important one is the one I started out with. It’s me in my kitchen at home with my wonderful memories, cutting up the vegetables and making everything look and taste just right until it all feels okay.
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