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my father put ice cream in a bowl then told us his harrowing ordeal on how he made it. the carton was in the trash but we always let him think we didn't know.

When I was a kid, my dad invited a friend over for "fried pizza." He made the dough, sauce and shredded the mozzie. He flattened out the pizza dough to about the size of a small saucer. He fried them on one side, turned them over and dressed them in the sauce and cheese, and covered the pan briefly. My friend Maria and I had about a zillion of these pizzas. (Long before we considered "fried foods" so verboten.)

From my father, I get the "MacGyver" cooking gene. As MacGyver could make a bomb out of a paper clip, rubber band and wadded up chewing gum, my dad could throw together a meal out of nothing. This has come in handy many times.

My father was the adventurous one in the kitchen. My mother was always a good, solid cook but my dad came out of left field with his cooking - nearly always with perfect results.

I envy all of you who felt loved, cared for and protected by your fathers. I did not have such a relationship with my father but managed to learn whatever lessons I cared to assimilate; and tried to ignore the rest.

sorry for your loss, my dad's gone too. He wasn't much of a cook but every summer he made root beer. I fondly remember those warm summer nights listening as the bottles blew up in the pantry : )

My dad is the main cook for himself and my mom now, but growing up he was strictly the grill man.

My favorite memory of him cooking was when I was in third grade and our dog got sick. At that point, he'd never cooked us humans anything other than steak or chicken, but for the sick dog, he cooked up ground lamb, white rice, and poured snapple in her water bowl.

Pav -- I'm sorry about your dad.

As far as mine and food memories, I can only recall one time when he cooked. One.

Back when I was a kid, I adored mushrooms, and my mom would sautee them in butter and add a bit of lemon juice. And it seemed like she never made enough. I'd see the mushrooms going into the pan, and then they'd shrink down...sigh. Just never enough of them.

So one day my dad decided he was going to make his special mushrooms, the way his mother made them. He sauted them in butter, and at the end added sour cream and ground black pepper.

Since I'd never eaten mushrooms cooked that way, I was seriously disappointed. I thought he ruined them.

That moment is actually the reason my parents didn't get a divorce. When my dad asked me which parent I would choose if they broke up, I told him that I'd have to go with mom, because she could cook. I figured I'd be sneaking him food, because he didn't know how. It wasn't so much about who I wanted to spend time with, but I was worried about starvation...all because of the mushrooms.

Years later, I came to appreciate dad's mushroom recipe, and I make them like that once in a while. And sometimes I add a hint of lemon, as well.

Funny thing is that we all probably would have been better off if they had divorced.

What a nice way to remember someone, Pavlov.
Both my parents were able cooks, but I have to credit my fathers willingness to let me make a total mess of his kitchen and then applaud my efforts for making my interest in cooking what it is today.

Dad's cooking improved over time - when I was young he was newly divorced and didn't execute things so wonderfully. One time he tried to serve us ice cream by removing the entire block of ice cream from the box in one big piece and then slicing it like it was a cake. Hysterical.

But Dad is also a fisherman/crabber and the simplicity of catching fish and then grilling it, or boiling up those blue claw crabs is something I will always be fond of. I can't see a blue claw without remembering days bobbing around in the dingy boat, patiently pulling the crabs up and then feasting on them with Dad.

Also sorry to hear about your loss. Your post made me realize how much I also associate food with my father (who's still around). He has a great passion for old-school French and Italian restaurants, but at home, he is also mostly a griller.

My specific memories are mainly him making scrambled eggs and weenies for my lunch when I was in kindergarten and he was in law school. During lunch, he tried to teach me chess (my skill level remains about the same).

But the single one that sticks out--because no one else believes me, and my sister was too young to remember--is the time he took all the cookie dough bits out of the cookie dough ice cream and baked them. Wtf?

Oh, and for some reason it fell on me to mix up martinis for him during high school. In return, I got to drink whatever wouldn't fit in his glass.

I'm sorry about your Dad as well... I lost mine as a teenager.
Dad was definitely the cook in the family, much more so then Mom is. He always let me help and definitely encouraged my cooking. He was also the grill master of the family, and I thankfully paid close attention when he was doing that.

I miss him on a regular basis while I'm cooking, I wish he could have seen me as an adult and that what he taught me has stayed with me and help shape me.

he'll always be with you pav, you'll see.

my dad? we used to make sardine sandwiches on italian bread with red onion and a squeeze of lemon on top. my dad, his father, my grandfather .... this was our favorite saturday lunch. we'd tear the brown bag grocery bag and use it as our tablecloth.

i would trade a day of my life to have lunch with those two again.

Very sorry for your loss.
My dad and I always enjoyed Sunday morning breakfasts of pepperoni and eggs. He didn't cook much but loved his food. He told me stories of growing up in a large Italian family and all of the food. My favorite story was on holidays "The table groaned, that's how much food there was!" Mom mostly taught me the rules and I am greatful, but there wasn't the passion, just rules. Dad taught me how much food could be fun and adventurous. Miss him much. He passed 19 years ago, I miss him not knowing my children, as he only knew them as babies.

sorry to hear about your fathers..

My father made our school lunches from kindergarten through middle school. He understood the humiliation our (well-meaning) mother's lunches of kimbap and kimchi would inflict on our social well-being...
PB&J all the way....We'd also help him frost the cake by taking swipes of frosting as he applied ;)

@Pavlov and @Luna, very sorry to hear about your losses. Stay strong.

My dad wasn't much of a cook, but I do remember a funny cooking story about him. One time, my mom was ribbing him about not knowing how to cook. He shot back that he knew how to cook spaghetti (boxed pasta and jarred sauce). That evening, he cooked up some pasta for dinner and must not have been paying attention, because the pasta and pasta water overflowed and the sauce spit all over the place! Which of course got a "So you know how to cook spaghetti?" out of my mom. He made a mean PB&J sandwich though!

@LPC Very sorry to hear about the passing of your Mom.

Another couple things food related with my father was how he taught me that Cheese (VT sharp cheddar) and sometimes peanut butter, went with everything... hot dogs, doughnuts, pie... you name it. He also taught me about the simple pleasure of eating a single thing and enjoying it. When I was young I had a trillion ear infections, when it would cause me to stay home from school we would drive to the store and he would buy ham or some other deli meat sliced thin, (never anything fancy, dad was a veal loaf or olive loaf man) and he would roll a piece for him and a piece for me and we would sit in the car and just enjoy it. Same thing with cottage cheese... he liked to buy a small tub of cabot cottage cheese and put salt and pepper on it... that would be lunch once in a while.

@Pavlov and LPC - so sorry to hear about both of your losses. This is such a great way to honor those we have lost. My own father passed away five years ago and I have so many great food memories with him. My father was the bbq/grill man and he would always "test" a piece of chicken or whatever he was grilling and he always would give me a taste - of course this was a secret because Mom would have been upset that we were spoiling our appetites. "Just a taste" he would say. He was also the weekend breakfast cook pancakes, french toast, Canadian bacon, sunny side up eggs...you name it. At least once a year we'd go out for mussels (no one else likes them) together. I miss that and him very much.

The pain passes with time. Bear up.

Dad would shred the remains of the Sunday roast and cook it down to flinders, then add cornstarch and lots of pepper. We ate it over torn up bread. I can taste it today, 31 years after he passed.