I am a daddy’s girl. I adore my dad for many reasons: his huge loopy smile, the big hugs he doles out generously, his kooky addiction to radio trivia contests… but it is his love for food that makes me most happy.
I can’t say that I am aware of a person that gets more excited about a meal, more hyped up about food, especially about a dish that is unknown, foreign, something he’s not tasted or experienced before, than my dad. Well, except for maybe me, but then who do you think I got that from? My dad is sort of a wild man, an easily excitable kind of guy. He is always up for a new adventure, especially when it comes to tasting something or cooking it.
I learned to hunt and fish with dad, even as a little kid I was wide eyed at his passion for carefully preparing what he’d managed to find in the forest or scoop from the sea. He preached valuable lessons regarding the importance of not wasting the life of an animal, a fish, a bird. He would always cook and eat what he brought home, grateful that the old Florida of that time was generous enough to maintain a glorious selection of seafood and wild game on our dinner table. I remember one ridiculously early morning, dad roused me from my little kid dreams, I was first grouchy as we trudged though the Florida swamp dove hunt, but quickly softened as dad pointed out bits of cool nature; deer tracks and faraway gators as they slithered into the muck. Dinner that night solidified my lifelong love for game birds and days spent, just me and my dad.
Dad is the type of cook that gets an idea in his head about wanting to make a thing and then he will obsess over it until perfected. The dish I remember most is of course the chicken wing.
Buffalo chicken wings to be exact. A manly dish, right up dad’s alley, something he can eat with his hands, tearing the spicy, deep-fried chicken meat from the bone with his teeth, orange-hued butter dripping down his forearms. So spicy that nothing could wash it down for the exception of a very cold, very cheap beer. That year, maybe into the next, dad fried batch after batch of wings, tweaking his recipe, playing with the salt content, the batter ratio, quantity of butter in the Buffalo sauce, and most importantly, the ideal brand of hot sauce. The family was willing, but increasingly fatter, test subjects.
The obsession for creating that perfect dish — which through the years included chili, venison stew, and Caesar salad amongst many other things — was not merely in the preparation of these dishes, but in the research and hunting down of the ideal restaurant version to emulate. Sundays would find him scouring the state on hours-long drives in search of the best wing, the wing that came closest to his dream wing, hitting every sports bar and wing shack in the South. Dad will drive many hours in his quest for that most heavenly of wing or for that ideal fish sandwich. Much to the chagrin of his wife and kids, he will take the craziest detours to investigate a rumor of an old Cracker spot reported to be serving cabbage palm slaw or an out of the way beach shack making conch ceviche. It would be an understatement to say that dad will go out of his way for good food.
He also happens to be my favorite travel companion. Dad is easy, always fun, always up for an adventure — he will seek one out if one doesn’t appear spontaneously. We take several trips together a year, just us two, hunting out food and drink, and often just hunting period. One epic journey we spent a week in a tent on a very high mountaintop in Colorado; we wore long johns, peed in the forest, and produced some pretty stellar campfire food. We were meant to be elk hunting, but what I remember most were hours-long, whispered, giggle-filled conversations, back-to-back under random trees, our eyes only sort of watchful for the mammoth beasts, often forgetful that we were supposed to be hunting. Our last trip a few weeks ago, dad and I spent a day goggle-eyed at Seattle’s Pike Place Market, the icy mounds of gi-normous, glistening, Pacific seafood literally blowing his mind.
Happy Father’s Day daddy. You inspire me everyday to make life a yummy adventure, to choose the road less traveled, since it just might lead you to something unknown, but it will surely be delicious. You remind me to take the long way, the journey being as important as the destination. Because of you, I will always keep my life spicy, I will be grateful for the food on my table and where it came from, and when I decide to do something, I will try and perfect it. Love, Kristin
Dad’s Simple, but Crazy Good Wings
Serves 6 as an appetizer
- 2 1/2 pounds chicken wings
- Salt and pepper
- 1/2 cup Frank’s Red Hot Sauce
- 1/3 cup butter, melted
- Celery, carrot sticks, and bleu cheese dressing on the side to serve
Preheat oven to 500 degrees and place oven rack on the lowest level. Mix together the butter and the hot sauce and set aside. Salt and pepper the chicken wings generously and place in a single layer on a foil-lined baking sheet. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until crispy, turning wings once. Remove wings from the oven and toss in the butter-hot sauce mixture. Serve immediately with the bleu cheese and vegetables.
Kitchen gadget must: The FryDaddy
Once dad’s wings reached wing perfection, he would immediately turn his attention towards the next thing. Like a dog with a bone, not letting it go until it, too, was right. Shortly after the years of the wings, there was the decade of the gator nugget. A very long story, which I think, continues to this day, but let me just tell you it was where dad’s most loved kitchen gadget truly got it use. Dad has a love for gadgets like most men, but his adoration for his FryDaddy, runs deeper than many marriages I know. The FryDaddy is the size of a normal rice cooker, but once filled with vegetable or peanut oil, can be used over and over again to deep fry most anything from the most addictive, paper thin potato chips, good old Southern-style chicken, or slivers of seafood. Presto makes several variations of the FryDaddy, browsing the many makes and models could make dad’s head spin. I wonder does dad know about the massive, multi option, FryPappy I just found on line? What better Father’s Day gift than the gift of a glorious crust and French-fried potato? Find FryDaddy fryers locally at Sign of the Bear.
Father’s Day restaurant picks
Fremont Diner Skip the insanity of a weekend breakfast or lunch at the always mobbed, always worth the wait roadside eatery. Instead, take dad to dinner at the Fremont Diner and tuck into massive, manly plates of ribs, hunks of beefy brisket, a fatty pork chops. Surprise him with a drippy wedge of crazy-sweet caramel cake or a thick, chocolatey milkshake to finish and you will win most certainly secure favorite kid status for years. No reservations.
Hot Box Grill There is no more dad-worthy Sonoma spot than at this temple of all things bacon-filled and duck fat fried. The beautifully charred, Fred Flintstone inspired, 32 ounce, bone-in rib eye or a whole — yes whole! — crispy-fried Cornish game hen, accompanied by ooey-gooey, cheesy macaroni and cheese will surely show dad a year’s worth of appreciation in one gargantuan dish. Call 939.8383 or visit hotboxgrill.com for reservations or more information.
Foodie find: Sriracha
Dad goes crazy for spicy. He just might mainline pure horseradish if you let him, have a bit of sushi with his wasabi, would douse his birthday cake with Tabasco if no one was looking, and craves the scorching heat of Thai spice on a regular bases. Gosh, guess where I got all that from, too? Sriracha is a hot sauce that gets major spice love from dads everywhere. This Asian-y chili sauce has a mild peppery punch, but with a tangy vinegar kick that allows generous squirts all over everything. Stir it into mayonnaise, intensify meat marinades, give deviled eggs a kick, add Asian heat to your bloody Mary, simply spoon it over anything. Dad would approve.
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