chicagodads

Nothing particularly exciting like death happened this last week. I guess that’s what I meant by that. The most exciting occurrence for me was in making the hams. One was glazed, one was not. In either case, it was the first time I ever – what’s the word for it? – roasted meat on my own. My concern is that roasted meat is a gateway food to casseroles. Then, whatever is cool about me being a dad who cooks – not just grills, but actually on a stove and in an oven cooks – will cease to be. I will no longer be experimenting with different flavors, textures and temperatures. I will only throw together whatever is available and mash them together in cheese. Not that I particularly have a problem with cheese. But cheese is like fine wine, it should extend and expand upon the tastes to create a memorably savory experience; it is not like scented candles in a dorm room, pretending to be spiritual yet really covering mistakes, danged mistakes.

I know I don’t like casserole for the same reasons a convert knows she doesn’t like her old cult – it’s a bit weird, I’ve grown up with it, I’m tired of it, my mom made it and she’s not creative.

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