I was fortunate to have 2 dads while growing up – my father, John and my beloved uncle, Freddy, whom I never called uncle, always Daddy. Both have transitioned from this world. Every day I miss them but on their birth anniversaries and on Father’s Day, I always wish they were around so that I could cook for them; I never got the opportunity to, and I believe that cooking for someone is one of the best ways to say I love you.
Daddy and uncle Freddy were excellent cooks in their own right, but rarely did they get a chance to be in the kitchen, as they were married to two sisters who were phenomenal cooks, and who ruled the kitchen; well, their entire households if truth be told (lol). However, on the rare occasions that these men would grace the kitchen, the food was always simple. The ingredients were coaxed to release their flavour with a sensibility of knowing what they wanted to eat and how to prepare it to suit their taste and liking. For example, Daddy’s late-night pot of Mettagee bubbling on the stove seasoned with a few pieces of salt fish that had just the right amount of salt for the entire 8-quart pot on the stove. The ground provisions layered in such a fashion that those that took the longest to cook were at the bottom, and in ascending order, the fastest cooking, such as the ripe plantains sitting at the top. Creamy, white, fresh coconut milk with specks of black pepper and leaves of fresh fine thyme swirling around everything. It was the first time I saw Mettagee topped with boiled eggs. Just as the flames beneath the pot were switched off, people who were fast asleep drifted sleepy-eyed towards the kitchen. Daddy had woken up the house.
Fish was something my Dad loved and preferred it cooked simply – fish broth or steamed. It was the same way he liked his vegetables too, cooked lightly and with a simple seasoning of salt and black pepper. I used to like listening him chew pak choi (aka Chinese cabbage). Daddy especially liked the white crunchy part. I cannot adequately describe it but there was a popping sound made as he chewed the white bits. It was always an indication that my mother had not overcooked the pak choi. If it was overcooked, the crunch would not be possible.
My other Daddy, uncle Freddy, his forte was in (frying) sautéing vegetables, on their own or with meat. As a kid I had always been fascinated by how bora can go from being so green to a very dark moss-like colour when cooked. One day, uncle Freddy let me tiptoe and peek into the karahi as he cooked fried Bora with potatoes. I could not believe how much the bora had shrunk becoming tiny and shriveled. A once full karahi was now a little less than halved in volume.
A dish I especially recall Daddy Freddy making was fried squash with salted pig tails. Finely chopped onions, garlic, fresh thyme and a chopped tomato formed the aromatic base for the dish. The salt meat was chopped into small bite-size pieces and boiled to remove the excess salt leaving just enough to season the entire dish. I can close my eyes decades later and still see the pink bits of meat nestled amidst the soft, tender, cooked squash. It is a taste that I cannot replicate, hard as I try.
If I could, I don’t know what I’d make for my Dads for their Father’s Day meal; I’d most likely ask them what they want to eat and make it for them. I’d want to sit at the table between them, flanked, protected by and with unconditional love. Secure. There’s much I’d like to tell them, not the least of which is how much I love them.
Happy Father’s Day.
Cynthia
