98% of people say 'Oh Shit!' before going in the ditch on a slippery road. The other 2% are from Massachusetts and they say, 'Hold my beer and watch this!' *I usually say, "Put on your seatbelt. I'm going to try something. I've only seen it done in a cartoon but I think I can do it." Happy Thanksgiving, folks! I will be off and on with the blog for the next few days as I prepare Thursday's feast. Roast turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole and on and on. Be safe, be well, be happy and be full . . .

Dad's Diner is now listed on the Foodie Blogroll!!! Just thought I'd let everyone know. It's a small landmark for me. And the blog is doing quite well, thank you for asking. I have a BBQ sauce recipe up right now that is just sick! Please check it out. For now? Enjoy the food fight . . .

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I found this floating around YouTube and had to share it. With a bit of preparation this recipe could conceivably work. I have yet to try it but I will . . . Have no fear. Stay tuned. I really like Alton Brown. Try his One Minute Eggplant. Good God . . .

I've wanted to keep a record of personal recipes for my daughters to cook when I'm someday reduced to a room temperature dish of Fettucine-al-Dead-o, or Face-Planting the Meringue maybe even pushin' up the perpetual parsley. Something about food that's familiar is quite simply comforting with a capital C. I began thinking about a small book of some sort but that idea fizzled. A blog made more sense as it's something I can just keep adding to as the years go by and I come across more recipes. Click on the picture above and check out Dad's Diner. Eat at Dad's where you'll live forever and the cheeseburgers are to die for. As always, I'll leave the lights on for ya . . .  ;) ps. special thanks to Maureen for helping me get this up and running.

Sarah and I went to visit my father yesterday to feed him lunch and sit with him for a while. Lately, he’s been overly emotional for reasons I may never be privy to. The minute he saw us, he broke down completely. I feel terrible saying it but I’ve almost gotten used to it now. I had to. My empathy for him that once seemed to be an impossibility to avoid feeling has now turned into an acceptance of sorts that boggles my mind. He was in the rec room that overlooks the city waiting to be fed. I wheeled him to his room where I know it’s quiet and had Sarah get his lunch. He’s a finicky eater these days around everyone except my sister and me which makes total sense. His diet is now 100% pureed making his meals look more like and artist’s palette than a meal. I learned yesterday that spinach makes my father cry. On his plate were potatoes, spinach and something that would resemble pasta and meatballs in the ‘baby food’ format. 20 years ago, the thought of drinking an Italian meal through a straw had never occurred to me. My father’s daily nutritional needs are now thrown into a blender ala ‘Bass-O-Matic’. And I wonder why he cries? I can’t get away from the feeling that a small part of him is frightened. Not of me or Sarah or Maureen or Pam and the kids but he seems almost Fear Factor scared. My sister says he’s a tortured soul and I would have to agree. There are so many things that run rampant through my mind as I feed him, spoonful by blessed spoonful . . . (I’m looking at a rainbow hovering over Boston as I write this. Truth) there was the day we brought my mother to assisted living and took my father back to our house for a BBQ. That may have been one of the last times that I actually ‘had’ him. He was making sense and I could talk to him and he could understand me. He was profoundly sad about bidding farewell to his wife for two weeks but at least he still liked the taste of beer (something he’s since lost long ago) Spoonful by blessed spoonful . . . the soft, cool grass beneath my feet in the backyard as we played catch after he got home from work. We never talked when we played catch but there was conversation that he and I understood. Especially when he threw a ball with some mustard on it, smiling as I caught it. That was my own personal field of dreams. Spoonful by blessed spoonful . . . the Christmas night I went to the facility he was staying in and found him in a self-induced sugar coma after polishing off an entire bag of Dove’s chocolates that someone had given him. There were candy wrappers everywhere, discarded like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. He seemed ready to do jumping jacks, for Christ's sake I keep praying for a rainbow in his future but he’s having one hell of a time seeing through the gauzy reality he’s currently living in. I finish giving him lunch and to my surprise he’s eaten everything save for the Popeye spinach soup. I’m happy because he has a belly full of food but he’s the farthest thing from a happy ending because he knows it’s time for me to go. I kiss his forehead and say, “I love you, Dad,” to which he replies, “Yeah.” Sarah and I walk to the door and she says, “Bye, Grampa.” More Wally tears. We walk down the corridor to the elevators in silence as I allow myself to cry a bit on the inside wanting badly for the seemingly inconsequential goodbyes to finally end. It’s then that I have an small epiphany; as I feed him lunch, he’s actually feeding me. It’s a Communion of sorts between my father and I. I change my mind then and there. And all of a sudden I don’t want the goodbyes to end.

I will be absent from the blog until sometime next week due to our graduating college student. It was only 4 short years ago that I posted THIS. Where did the time go? That said, Pamela and I are so damn proud of her we can't tell you. I wrote a very personal note to her that won't make it here, sorry to say. I wanted to post it but decided it was best left in the hands of the person I originally wrote it for. I shall return soon but wanted to, at the very least, explain my sudden disappearance. Hope everyone has a wonderful Memorial Day filled with hot dogs, cheeseburgers and much beer. (and Cigars!) Please remember to say a prayer for all those that gave of their lives so we could enjoy our freedom. See all of you soon. Congratulations, Sarah!

It was September of 2006 that I took a week off from work. I planned on doing some things around the house, smoke some cigars and drink some Guinness. I had a few extra days to play around with and decided to visit my friend Michael who lives on Cape Cod. I left early on Tuesday morning and planned to meet Michael for breakfast before deciding what to do for the day. We met at a place in West Dennis called 'Grumpy's'. It was your basic 'hole-in-the-wall' breakfast place but the knotty pine that lined the inside walls seemed to say, "You will eat well, old man." The aroma of frying bacon and sautéed onions wafted towards us as we walked in and made my empty stomach stand at attention. (but can a stomach do that?) Grumpy's was the farthest thing from grumpy and the coffee was very close to excellent. I ordered two eggs, over real easy, bacon, home fries and raisin toast. No surprise there. Can't remember what Michael ordered but I do remember we both rolled out of there like the older men that we're slowly learning to be. After a Grumpy breakfast we decided to go back and drop off my truck before heading to the beach for the day. And although it was mid-September, the temperature was @75 - 80° with pure cobalt skies. "Want me to bring a cooler? We can stop on the way and throw some beer on ice,"  Michael said. A man after my own heart, I thought. "Sounds like a plan," I said, "And we're covered on cigars." We got to Cahoon's Hollow around 9:45 with 2 beach chairs and a BAC (big ass cooler) in tow. I couldn't believe how warm it was; a kiss of Indian Summer. The beach was totally deserted, save for Michael and I. With a shoreline as expansive as the Hollow it seemed almost surreal. Me, Michael and the beach. We planted our chairs a good distance from the entrance and sat in silence for a bit. The warm, salty breeze and brilliant sunshine took us both away. The sunshine was like millions of tiny fires flittering on the surface of the water, rising and falling methodically with the tide, a natural aquatic pendulum. The blue raspberry sky told both of us that this was going to be a very special day. "Want a cigar?" I asked. "Want a beer?" Michael asked. We both started laughing like two little boys playing hooky from school. With cigars lit and beers opened we chatted the morning away, one blessed sip at a time. I can't even remember what cigars I brought. They may have been Cuban, but truth be told rolled up dogshit would have tasted good that day. Michael and I have always had the ability to talk forever. Doesn't matter if I haven't seen him in 10 years (God forbid), we have some serious history. (Remember Treasure Valley, Deg?) And lot's of it. We weren't alone for very long before we began seeing things popping up in the surf. From my vantage point, the 'things' looked like shiny obsidian bowling balls. "Seals," Michael said, flatly. pop.pop.pop.pop.pop.pop.pop. It seemed like they were popping up everywhere. And it seemed like we were placed there just to see them. I wish I could put the day in a bottle and open it whenever I needed it. My own private and saving grace. Maybe writing it down is a step in the right direction. But maybe Laho would vehemently disagree . . . :mrgreen:

I began reading the new Natalie Goldberg book  'Old Friend from Far Away' a few days ago. It's a book custom-tailored for writers of memoir. So far the book is quite good (like all of her books). Page 14 has a prompt that I've decided to turn into a post. The chapter is quite short: "Die" Tell me what you will miss when you die. When I die there will be many things that I will miss. This list went on for quite a few pages but I've chosen an abbreviated version for your perusal. If I included food you'd be here for a few days. I mostly chose things from the category 'matters of the heart'. Feel free to steal this as a 'meme'. For you writers visiting, it's a wonderful exercise. Do it. Even if you don't consider yourself a writer, it's worth your time. You can look at some of the things that really make your life worthwhile. Here I go.

I will miss:

-Whispers in the dark -Pamela's eyes, voice, face and beautiful soul -hearing the phrase, "I love you, Daddy," whispered in my ear -my three beautiful girls -the sound of little footsteps coming down the stairs on Christmas morning -my sister, my twin, the other part of my very soul -Caitlin's smile -Ryan's loveable way (and awesome jumpshot) -Billy's laugh -All the people I truly love (if I've talked to you in the past year, consider yourself on this list) -a warm and gentle rain -the silent beauty of falling snow (yeah, I wrote that) -the sound of surf at the Cape -the smell of freshly cut grass in late spring -stars (especially the constellation Orion, someday possibly the Southern Cross) -my cats purring -Cuban cigars -Guinness (or any fairly decent dark beer like Porter or Stout) -Makers' Mark -writing with a nice fountain pen on some fine quality paper -the feeling of creating -entering 'the Zone'  (artists of all kinds know about this one) -music (playing and listening) -my piano -weekend phone calls to a country far, far away with two incredibly special people -memories of the Camp -Bermuda -the aroma of an apple pie baked by my grandmother from summer's long ago -Blue Cheese -Bill Hicks, Denis Leary, Sam Kinnison, George Carlin, Lewis Black and Dave Chapelle -sunsets -reading -most importantly, my blog And yes, I will dearly miss sex and exceptional breasts. I'm not a freak. Truthfully, what will you miss?

Here's a sneak peak at one of the commercials from this years onslaught of ad campaigns. It was the only '09 one available at YouTube so I've no doubt it will be plastered everywhere. It is a fairly good one though. Kinda nice to not give a crap about who wins today. The food and commercials are what it's all about for me. Cripes, I'm still kinda numb from last years bowl. Enjoy the game!

No jokes here; just a simple guide to donating 100 lbs of food to the Greater Boston Food Bank, for free. Go to this post, read it and leave a comment and Tyson Foods will donate 100 lbs of food to the food bank for each comment received. No strings, no coupons, no mailing lists. Saw this while visiting Raincoaster this afternoon and had to get this post up. I've already been and commented. What are you waiting for?