LUNCH WITH DAD

 I get along well with food. My life long relationship with it can be divided into 3 stages. The first was growing up in a house dominated by my mother’s kitchen, the center of our family life, and heavy with the aroma of garlic, basil, and oregano. Food was seamlessly connected to family and friends, and was an integral part of all social gatherings. All visitors were directed to the kitchen table where they were offered coffee, food, wine, or any combination of the three. This experience was comfortably tucked away in my psyche where it quietly remained for most of my adult life - the second stage. The third stage began gradually as I entered into the so-called Golden Years. As those childhood experiences of food re-surfaced I began to appreciate how much they helped define who I am, and I eagerly embraced them. And the association between food, family, and friends so firmly ingrained in my mind, continues today. I enjoy food more than ever before, and the enjoyment is always greater when Patience and I are sharing our table – or kitchen counter – with family and friends.

In recent years I have become a big fan of the mid-day meal. Regardless of where I am or what I’m doing I usually manage to find time for the lunch. It doesn’t matter if I’m hungry or not. At 12 o’clock I leave the studio, cross the breezeway into the kitchen and call – actually yell – to my wife that it’s “time for lunch”. The meal is usually a simple affair with little cooking required, and generally consists of whatever I find in the fridge: leftovers, roasted peppers, cheese, Mortadella or salami, and a fresh tomato when available. With Patience’s homemade bread, and a little olive oil and Balsamic vinegar, anything is possible. A recent addition to my lunch menu is the 8-minute egg – an undercooked hardboiled egg cut lengthwise, drizzled with olive oil, salt, and black pepper - simple, elegant, and delicious.

But in addition to being one of the simple pleasures in my life, lunch has become a constant reminder of my father, a man who could not hide his enjoyment of food. Like all farmers, my father’s life was defined by long hours of hard work. His day would begin with early morning chores and end late in the afternoon or early evening, interrupted only by breakfast, and the mid-day meal. I can see him sitting at the kitchen table with his face breaking into a satisfied smile as my mother places the food on the table. I can even here the soft audible sigh he would invariably make. It didn’t matter if it was a few leftovers from the night before, or an assorted collection of cheese, bread, peppers, and other “whatever’s”, his enjoyment of each meal was obvious and genuine. Of course if it was pasta the sigh was always a little louder. His mid-day and evening meals were always accompanied by a small juice glass of his red wine from one of the barrels in our cellar.

This simple mid-day meal has become a welcomed oasis in my daily routine. In addition to the delightful flavors that make it such a treat, there are those moments when a particular taste or smell triggers a fleeting memory of my mother’s kitchen. It is easy to imagine my father sitting across from me now, sharing the joy of this simple meal. We raise our glasses and silently toast one another. It can’t get any better than that.

Luciano Pavarotti was correct when he said,

 “One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.”

Bill Renzulli can be reached at wfrenzulli@mac.com