Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Cooking (but not with kittens)

Sometimes I look to my dad for cooking advice. It's partially because I look to him for advice on anything that's practical and based somewhat in math, but it's partially because I enjoy the comedy routine that grows from it.

I learned to cook in my mid-20s, after I had finally, finally, finally left the nest. As with most things in my life, it started with a love affair with TV--specifically the Food Network, in this instance. This was back in the early days of 30 Minute Meals, back in the early days of Good Eats... not to get all nostalgic, but before reality TV got ahold of Food Network and engulfed it with its many wars and challenges and Guy Fieris.

The only way I can ever learn hands-on skills is to:
1) read;
2) follow directions exactly; and
3) obsess and dither over every step to the point of sucking all the joy out of it.

I've gotten better as I've grown comfortable with my skills and knowledge, but at heart, I'm still very much a rule-and-recipe follower.

Dad is not. Dad is a "hmm, what do I have in the pantry" cook, a "I'm going to dump this in there, see what happens" cook, and a "well, I had leftovers of this, so in they go" cook. He is less interested in perfection and more interested in economy and the general vicinity of edibility.

As you can imagine, this leads to some jokey jokes. Also some mock(?) frustration on my part. After all, how can a guy who is all "measure twice, cut once" also be the same guy who puts canned sliced mushrooms in everything? They don't belong in a bowl of Cheerio-s*, Dad! Eew!

But never let it be said that he has low standards:
Me: Also, I think you would like this recipe; I made it as a casserole rather than a pie, and it was very, very cheap to make.
Dad: But was it worth a shit?

From an e-mail exchange earlier today in which I bothered him with the latest thing I'm obsessed with: this one Kraft recipe for spaghetti squash "pie" (whatever, it's a hot dish).
***
My original intention for the e-mail was not to pester Dad about cooking, but to pester him with a demand that he go and support a local cat rescue/Trap Neuter Release program.

I know my family and friends sometimes/often worry about my involvement with cat rescue and volunteering. I'm not worried, if that counts for anything. I sometimes ride a bit of an emotional roller coaster, it's true, but in the end, I feel passionately about it, it makes me happy, and it makes me feel like I'm doing something worthwhile. I don't earnestly say that about too many things. I wouldn't even say that about TV (don't worry, TV...I still love you, baby). I feel that way about family and good friends. I used to feel that way about work (eesh).

Also, I know three cats is enough, and I swear that no one is going to have to unbury me from a mountain of cat dander and kittens.

Anyway, the point is, I e-mailed that to Dad with the subject line "Please go buy an and/or pie at this."

His initial response: "Oh, good grief."

Heh heh heh.

But we got to do something he likes--namely, talk about the geography of Western Wisconsin, to which I seem to remain largely ignorant (I guess this isn't so much "in New Richmond" as it is perilously close to Minnesota, which means it is distasteful to Dad's idea of travel), even though I grew up in the area; and make jokey jokes:
Dad: I thought the pies would be made from kitties.
Me: No, kittens don't make good pie filling. They're made of rainbows and whiskers, and if you put them in an oven, you get gored by a unicorn.

*Slight...ever-so slight exaggeration (I almost wrote "hyperbole," but then Dad would e-mail me to say "What the hell is 'hyperbole?'"