Happy Flag Day, Canada!
Today would be my father's 64th birthday. He passed away 6 and a half years ago, to cancer.
My dad and I never got along all too well, but, I was 18 when he died. We never had a chance to get along or have a relationship like (I imagine) most people develop with their parents in their post-teenage years.
I like to think that my passion for food was inspired by my dad. When we got together with his side of the family, who all lived in Montreal or Quebec City, it was always over copious amounts of food, and the stale lingering stench of cigarette smoke that permeated the whole province.
It wasn't just the maple candy and squeaky cheese curds of Quebec that trigger my memories and my salivary glands. When we went out for dinner without my mom, we got to savour contraband items like extra cheese pizza, chocolate sweets, and french fries. Whenever we eat out, my poor boyfriend has to hear stories of some of the ridiculous things my dad used to eat. I sometimes even push him to order certain things that I used to eat, with my dad, in my pre-veg days. I've now got him hooked on Halifax-style donairs and Shwartz' smoked meat.
Everything my dad made had extra butter and lots of love. My dad loved to eat. He also loved to cook. My Mom's family always looked forward to his short ribs, and we all went crazy for his crepes. I miss Christmas morning crepes more than I can articulate. They were heavenly.
Believe it or not, my dad is the reason I am a vegetarian. When I was 9 years old, I went a week without eating any meat. When I announced it to my family, my dad scoffed at me, challenging me to keep it up. I seemed to have inherited his stubborn genes, because I sure did keep it up.
I think of him often when I'm cooking, and I know he'd be proud every time a smiling face and full belly leave the Gypsy Cafe, praising my vegan and vegetarian cooking, that, to me, is so heavily inspired by my dad's love of food.
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