Memories of food in the Payne house

[Written for Fathers' Day, June 17, 2007.]

I remember that our kitchen and dining room were uniquely equipped. We have had some interesting tables, including a couple of round plastic tables acquired from ward surplus, and the beautiful wooden table inherited from Dad's parents. We have also had unique chairs, including the Swedish Tripp Trapp chairs that were both numerous and sturdy when I was young, but which are by now an endangered species.

A few kitchen implements also stand out in my memory. First, the cheese slicers, the like of which nobody else had. These have been imprinted in my memory as the Platonic ideal of cheese slicing utensils, although no store seems to carry them any more. Second, Dad's big knife. This was used for everything from gardening to serving ice cream. It had a utilitarian thick black plastic handle and a blade that I can only describe as stubby, but it was tremendously useful. It's the kind of tool I would want to have with me on a desert island. Third, the wooden spoon and fork used primarily for serving salad. There were other uses for these utensils as well, and some of us got to know them better than we wished to.

All of us remember (and love) our Christmas Eve dinners, with traditions inherited from Mom's family. I also have very fond memories of our Thanksgiving dinners in Kansas, usually celebrated with a handful of foreign students from the university. Dad would bring them home for a real American Thanksgiivng meal, complete with his own special brand of stuffing (an elegant recipe, as we say in social science). Then, after dinner, we would play soccer in the back yard, where we would invariably be impressed with the skills of our guests.

The back yard was also the source of many of our favorite foods, including tomatoes. Some summer nights now I lie awake, tormented by the memories of those red, ripe tomatoes, consumed in their abundance, wantonly. Store-bought tomatoes aren't even remotely comparable to home-grown tomatoes, fresh out of the garden and still warm from the sun. Dad taught us to eat eat them whole, like apples (with a little salt).

Another thing I learned from Dad's example was that spicy food is manly. In this, and only this, I think I may have surpassed my father. But all of us boys, I think, grew up seeing two bowls of salsa and wanting to eat from the same bowl that Dad used. Imitation, it is said, is the sincerest form of flattery, and the universal love of hot peppers among the Payne boys is a wordless tribute to our desire to be like our father.

There's more, to say, of course. I'd love to talk about peanut butter and banana sandwiches, trifle, fried cheese, Mom's orange cranberry bread, and pizza cooked in cast-iron skillets. But I need to put my tie on and go to church, and I think I've said what I wanted to: I have happy memories of home, I love food, and I love my parents. Happy Father's Day, Dad.

love
JOHN