My dad would have hated what I had for lunch today.
I took part of a leftover baguette, cut it lengthwise and toasted it. I spread some left over Alfredo sauce on the bread (ala cream cheese on a bagel), and put some sliced up Italian sausage inside and to complete the sandwich. It was delicious.
My dad loves a good baguette, and he’s ok with sausage, but the Alfredo sauce, not so much.
My dad loves great food. He’s a very open and adventurous eater, and much of my interest in food comes from him. Many of my favorite memories with my dad include food. There’s sitting across from him at Herb Garden, among a sea of wine glasses experiencing what can only be described as a ridiculous culinary adventure. Grabbing a bowl of Vietnamese Pho with my dad on a Saturday in Seattle’s Rainer Valley neighborhood was always a fun outing. I remember sitting next to my dad as a young kid, while he was watching television trying to enjoy his steak after a long day at work. He would eventually relent and feed me bites of his New York Strip, which was his choice cut at the time. Oh, I can’t forget that time when he cooked bananas foster, and almost set the kitchen on fire, and there’s sitting with him at my maternal grandmother’s favorite sushi bar for dinner the day of her funeral.
While my dad can appreciate the craft and art in creamier and richer foods, he doesn’t has much of a taste for it. I totally respect my dad’s view on foods that lean on heavy cream as an essential ingredient. This viewpoint is not out of ignorance, and it’s better for his health anyways that he doesn’t eat as much of these kinds of foods. My dad is simply not the kind of guy who orders mac ‘n cheese, nachos, or would enjoy Green Bean Casserole.
The first time I ever ate Green Bean Casserole is one of those food memories that has never left me. My freshmen year, a group of people from marching band invited me to road trip to see a football game. I’m not sure what game we were heading to, or even the game at all but I do remember the dinner we had at one of my marching band’s friend's house that we stayed for the night.
It was a very dark, and very cold night and as we sat down for dinner, I was hungry and looking forward to something nurturing. A bowl of cottage cheese came out and people spooned it on the plate, which completely mystified me. Then a big casserole dish came out with some roasted chicken, which smelled incredible. And then came the Green Bean Casserole. There was an audible “aww,” of wonder when it came to the table, and some people even applauded.
I looked this dish, with small pieces of green beans in a white sauce covered by some kind of crunchy topping, I could not identify. Oh, cream of mushrooms soup and friend onions? Right. My family ate green beans, but they were stir-fried with garlic. Of course as with every dish, I took a spoonful onto my plate. While I was truly touched by the hospitality of my friend’s family, besides the chicken, I barely could eat any of the other food.
It took some time but after couple years of living in the Midwest, I grew to enjoy and love Midwestern food culture. Each time I saw Green Bean Casserole, I tried it again, and every time I did, I liked it a little bit more, and it got to the point that I was one of those people applauding when I saw it. The green beans mix perfectly with the mushroom flavor in the sauce and the fried onions, (in a very Chinese way), complement the texture of the beans and add a great pop of onion flavor.
My mother-in-law was hosting Christmas eve dinner and I volunteered to cook some kind of vegetable dish. I considered doing roasted Brussels sprout, or possibly a ratatouille, but then it hit, I’m going to do a Green Bean Casserole, from scratch. I looked through a bunch of different recipes and landed on this one by Laura Vitale:
I liked the idea of a firmer “al dente,” beans, the bacon adding depth to the flavor, and a real mushroom presence. I made the dish for Christmas Eve dinner (though I didn’t fry the onions myself), and it was a success. It tasted rich, but also fresh, and people enjoyed eating it.
About a week later when I was home, I was talking to my mom, as I often do, about cooking. I told her about the Green Bean Casserole, and she seemed interested. I offered to make it for dinner, and she agreed that would be nice. We hit the Asian grocery store (there were having an incredible sale on fresh uni), managed to find the fried onions as well as the other ingredients.
When we got home, my dad as usual took some time to do prep for the evening meal. Ethan watched my dad as he prepared the green beans. My dad told me that when he was a kid, he would watch his grandmother snap green beans in half. He smiled at Ethan and Ethan smiled back somehow understanding the meaning of the moment.
I explained to my dad that I was planning to cook a creamy casserole dish that he probably wouldn’t like. My dad laughed and said that’s fine, and that he had plenty of other things to eat. I left my dad with Ethan as he continued to prep. A little while later my dad found me in the living room with a cut up mushroom and asked me if it was small enough for the casserole. I said it was perfect and my dad went to the kitchen and finished cutting them up.
It was fun showing my mom how to make the casserole and she encouraged me to put more friend onions on top, and attempted to keep me from eating them before putting them on the casserole.
We had a great dinner with my parents, Diana, our kids, my brother and sister-in-law and their two daughters. It was the first time ten of us had shared a meal together and it was really special. The casserole turned out pretty well (it was a little under-seasoned). It didn’t seem like my dad tried it, which was fine with me. My mom liked it and thanked me for making it.
The next afternoon my mom mentioned that the Green Bean Casserole made good leftovers and she had eaten some of it for lunch. She said that everyone liked it. My dad chimed in, and said, “I had some for lunch it, and it was good, I liked how the mushrooms and green beans mixed.” I was surprised, and immediately felt proud and appreciated. After a couple minutes, I realized I shouldn’t be surprised. This was my dad.
In high school when I got really into musicals, my dad tried listening to musicals to understand my interest. And now there are times that he actually listens to musicals more than I do now. My dad took me to classical music concerts, he wasn’t initially interested in. I don’t know how much he understood the music that I wrote in college, but I know he listened to it and took pride in my work. I periodically send him CDs, books, and DVDs and he probably doesn’t like dome of what I send him but I know that he tries every one of the things I share with him.
Even though my dad knew that I was going to cook something he probably wouldn’t like, he spent the time and energy to carefully prep the green beans and cut the mushrooms. He knew it was not a type of food he would enjoy, he gave it a try and found something in it to like.
I think about my dad, raising two sons in a country he emigrated to as an adult, who don’t speak his native language, and who are adapting parts of American culture, that often doesn’t make sense. It could not have been easy for my dad to sit at the dinner table and hear me and my brother talk about thing he didn’t understand like comics books. He never forced the dinner conversation to what he wanted to talk about, he never disapproved of our interests. Instead of tryIng to mold us into people he could naturally relate to, my father let us find ourselves and looked at what he didn’t understand about us as an opportunity to enrich himself.
In this way he is the most uncommon of dads.
The paradigm of fatherhood that many adapt is about passing down traditions, and teaching younger generations to love the things that their fathers do. Because of this, some children feel pressured to follow their father’s passions in an attempt to feel approval and pride from their fathers, in an attempt to feel love. These children learn that in order to gain their fathers love, they must become a mirror instead of an individual.
My dad taught me a different lesson. He worked to get to know me, and he worked to gain my love and approval. This brought the same efforts out of me through feelings of gratitude and love. It he was willing to make the effort, so would I.
So I will try to love my sons as my father loves me. I will find things to like in books that Ollie enjoys, and whatever Ethan is into that I’m not, I will do my best to understand. Even if I don’t get it, I will still do all I can to support my boys' passions. Fatherhood and love is often doing for others what you don’t understood or don’t like, because it means something to someone else.
My dad has taught me this in the big things like embracing Diana as family without hesitation, and supporting my career as a teacher, also also in the small things like cutting green beans and mushrooms and eating my casserole.
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