My dad is a fantastic cook. He instilled my love of food, he taught me that food is not just about eating, but it reflects a culture and sometimes tradition.

Whenever I need to know anything about cooking, my dad is a great reference. It is true that he is often very set in his ways, and he sometimes believes there is only one way of doing things, but I guess that is what makes him consistent. Or else, consistently good. I like to believe we learn from each other. He loves a great home cooked meal as much as he would love a fine-dining restaurant and on any occasion possible, I try to cook for him.

He has had a few disasters however…the one I remember really clearly are his stuffed calamari. Dear God. Those were absolutely terrible. When they were presented to us, we all were too polite to say anything. Then my dad cried ‘Lordy, lordy, these are awful! Aren’t they awful? What did I do to these things?’ and he picked up everyone’s plate and threw the contents into the garbage. We then went out for pizza.

So I dedicate this blog post to my dad, a great cook and a great father.

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