Dad will cook for me whenever he can. He enjoys making meals for me because he said that I am not a fussy eater... he he. It’s not like eating in big expensive restaurant but I like his cooking. He can make good pasta meals that are (sometimes) better than the local Italian restaurants. He goes to the wet market, in the morning, in his shorts and hiking shoes... he he.
He used to wake up early to make my school lunch. We stopped that so as not to waste food because they usually don’t taste very nice anymore by lunch time. Sandwiches turned soggy and cold spaghetti tasted like.... cold spaghetti. Some of my classmates had containers of maid cooked food which were often thrown into the bin. Aiyoh!
When I was much younger, I used to call him a cooker; “Dad, you are such a good cooker”, “Yes I know, they don’t make this old model anymore”... he he.
Dad said that he is an expert in the “less is more” cooking method. He cooks with less fuss, with less stress, with less cutting and chopping, with fewer ingredients, in less time, using fewer pots and with less washing up to do after. I help to set up the table.
He once made maki because we both like to eat them so much. He read the cook book, took some notes and then bought the ingredients. When he was done making them, there were more rice on the floor, on table, on his hands and face than inside the seaweeds. Even though the maki looked kind of distorted, they tasted very nice. We ate all of them anyway...he he.
Dad, thank you for making my meals. God, thank you for making my dad.
That was the last time he made maki.
by small bright head