Dad's Day

I have many memories of my father growing up. One memory that stands out is when I played PeeWee Soccer in the third grade. The first year I played, I happened to be friends with the superstar player, Sean.  It’s amazing that PeeWee soccer had superstar players, but it did. I had the honor of being Sean’s friend because our parents were buddies.

Being one of the only girls in the entire league was tough, but I managed to have a successful first season (with Sean’s help). By the time the second season came around, Sean had aged up to the big league, forcing me to fend for myself. The second season definitely was not as good. The boys were horrendously mean to me and the coach was even worse.

A few games into the season, I had spent most of the time on the sidelines. I wasn’t the best player ever, but we were in the third grade. No one was a good player! I’m not sure what had exactly pushed my dad over the edge, but one day, as I sat bundled in a blanket, watching the game clock tick by, having barely played at all, my dad went up to the coach. Why wasn’t I playing? It’s a recreational league. Everyone should have time to play! Was it because I was the only girl on the team? Because no one else had sat out the entire game!

Granted, my dad was a bit of a bulldog back then. He threw the jersey in the coach’s face and we marched off the field. Soccer was no longer my sport of choice.

That definitely wasn’t the last time my dad came to my aid when things were unfair. Over time, his approach has definitely mellowed. His support may now come more in the form of hugs and supportive words then telling off a soccer coach, but I know, without a doubt, my dad always has my back.

When I hear other people’s stories of absent fathers (or worse, abusive fathers), I am reminded how sincerely lucky I am to have my dad. Whether it is to give me directions, paint my apartment, or harass my car insurance agent 15 times a day, I know my dad is always there for me.

And true to form, to show that I am definitely my father’s daughter, I write this post a day late. J

Thanks for everything, Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

The Dreaded Sprout

No offense to my parents, who I love dearly, but their culinary tastes have only recently started to blossom. While my mother has always been an excellent cook, the vegetables that frequented our dinner table were usually corn and potatoes. How very Iowa of us. There were also overcooked broccoli and string beans. Maybe the occasional sweet potato if they were on sale and it was around Thanksgiving. And asparagus served in the same steamed way.

However, as we aged and my tastes have matured, my parents have also become quite the foodies. My mother even makes her own sushi! Though a curry dish will probably never cross their table.

One vegetable I can remember my parents agreeing that they would never force us to endure was the hated brussel sprouts. What kid doesn't hate brussel sprouts?! It is as though all 80's and 90's pop culture conspired against this poor sprout to ensure children everywhere hated it! Even if they never tried it!

I was 27 years old when I had my first encounter with "this dreaded sprout." Lucky for me, I loved them! As with all other vegetables in my life, my favorite way of eating them is roasted!

I've even convinced my parents to eat them! Don't I get some life bonus points for that, Karma?

Simply Roasted Brussel Sprouts

Ingredients
1 lb Brussel sprouts, cut in half
1 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper

Method
1. Preheat your oven to 425 degrees.
2. Coat brussel sprouts with olive oil and spread out onto a cookie sheet. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
3. Bake for 20 minutes and check to ensure that the sprouts are browning. You can leave them for a few more minutes if they need more browning. Flip and bake for a few more minutes. 

Grandma's Gnocchi

Hey there! Some of you may have noticed my absence. While the holidays definitely took up plenty of time, our family also had an unfortunate loss over this holiday season. My grandmother, who has been struggling with dementia for years, finally passed away on December 23rd.

I took on the responsibility of giving my grandmother's eulogy, which was no easy task. I thought I would share a portion of it with you here since it directly relates to why food really is so important to me. Try not to cry. :(

"I have always loved my grandmother's gnocchi. Ever since I was a little girl, when my mother asked what I wanted for Christmas day dinner, the answer has always been gnocchi. Besides actually loving the pasta, it also evokes a connection to grandmother. I can still remember being in the kitchen with her as she patiently rolled out the dough, floured the pans, and dropped each batch into boiling water. She always allowed me to help, no matter how much of a mess I would make. Years later, even with my mother being as wonderful a cook she is, no one's gnocchi is better then grandma's.

It’s probably what we remember most, sitting down to a table full of food surrounded by family. You gather together, eat, laugh, tell stories and love each other. And what we all knew, was that above all, your family was always there for you."

When I first read the opening lines to my friends, they joked that, of course, it had to start with food! I'm not sure if it's because we're Italian or that we come from a family of fat kids, but food has always been the thing to bring us together, whether it be holiday dinners, barbeques, or banquets. Food brings traditions and stories to the forefront of our minds in a way few other things can. Every time I make gnocchi, I will think of my grandmother and be reminded of my time with her. These last few days, I have had the urge to make gnocchi every day.

Happy Birthday, Mary Poppins!

It just wouldn't be me if a birthday wish came on time! Better late then never, right?

When I've occasionally had a few too many drinks and talk about my family, I'll actually get teary. It's cheesy, but whatever. It happens. I love my family. At the center of our crazy clan is Mama Graham, my very own Mary Poppins (she hates it when I say that by the way). My mother is an amazing woman whose strength, creativity, and sense of humor is something I can only hope to have some day. I don't know where I would be (regardless of that whole giving birth part) if it wasn't for my mother.

I love you, Mommy!

Happy Birthday to the wonderful, loving woman who birthed me! :)