Pop was considered king of the kitchen, even though Mom made 98% of the meals in the home. As I may have said earlier, he had offbeat tastes, was a funny guy, and made us eat weird and often wonderful stuff. Whatever cockamamie diet he was on became ours also, and we went through phases of Lipton chicken soup and hot dogs for breakfast, but real food at night and on weekends.
He actually was a good cook, but the man liked high heat. I don't think that I learned there were other temperatures except high...until I met mrguy, who would chuckle as he turned down the flames lapping the outside of whatever pan I had on the stove.
Today I inherited evidence of Pop's M.O., an artifact mrguy has dubbed "The Ancestral Borch Pan." I have coveted this item so highly that I consider hiding it from MiddleGuySis, who is staying with us.
Witness, the borch pan, from which came the crusty potatoes made by mistake and later cherished as "hard rocks." This is the pan in which I made my first broiled chicken breasts. This is the breadcrumb pan and maybe even a brownie pan. It is primal to my culinary existence.
Pop was the cook but Mom fed us. She knew I needed it, and although this blog is about Pop, it's all about how much I love Mom and she loves me.
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