Friday, January 22, 2010

Meet My Dad...

Last night, Manny belted out a rendition of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody from the next room. I was just sitting there enjoying a grapefruit margarita (with ice thank you) and found myself smiling all over. Life is grand. I don't know if y'all know this, but I am a political junkie. I love it and hate it, as we all do. On certain days, I feel like I have been punched in the kidneys by the day's events. I try not to let it get me down. I have friends, like Dan, Kamala, Marisa and Francine who tell me to knock it the f*@%! off, when I start furrowing my brow. What am I rambling about, aside from the Patron, it's life mother puckers!

Life. Let's all just skip back down memory lane and remember why we do what we do. Why we love what we love. Why we should love what we do. Above is a pic of ....guess. It's the 70's, obviously. So smart, you are...I have my Dad's coloring and my mom's bone structure. I wish I had their height. My Mom was close to 6 foot! You can see they are happy. My dad left this earth shortly before my 30th birthday and I miss him. My Mom, she will never recover. He was nuts and dogmatic and would tickle me until I would pee in my pants. I will never forgive him for that. He had a knack for saying the most inappropriate things. Shut up! I know.... He could fix about anything and was always there for me. No one was more excited about being a grandfather. My brother once gave me the most random information about..I think it was concrete. When I mocked him, his response was, "I am my father's son." My point is that my Dad knew what he loved and he loved food. I learned to love food through my Dad.

My Dad was the king of the deli sandwich, Chinese food or any Asian product, pickled vegetables, mustard, sausage, ribs, raw bar....I could go on. The man loved food. He grew up in Rhode Island and spent his adult years in NYC. One of my first and most vivid memories is of my Dad putting a clam on the half shell to my lips on the boardwalk and me choking. He held me upside down by my ankle as he pounded my back to dislodge the bivalve. I cried and he took me for a waffle ice cream sandwich, Napolitano style sprinkled with powdered sugar, to erase the whole incident. I miss that man! My first taste of Indian, Korean and Japanese was with my Dad. He roared when I first tried wasabi. Roared! (read: annoying) He judged a restaurant by how many "round eyes" were in the place. Not too many? Good! I mentioned he was inappropriate, no?

It's a new year. Let's introduce someone to something we love. Why we love. Why we are passionate. Mike Feldman, my Dad. He has never had our gelato. He would have loved it. Now go do it! He would be proud of you!

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