I say cooking has everything to do with your surroundings. It is the story that happened before or even during the meal, and the people that share the meal with you that really make a recipe great.  A hot dog at a ball game will always surpass a steak consumed alone. My father’s recipes were not always the healthiest or most complex, but they always had people surrounding them.  These are the stories behind the recipes. Sometimes embellished ever so slightly, but that is what makes cooking fun.

The Unhealthy Chef

Episode 1: Meatloaf

My father is 5 ft 5 inches tall, 145 pounds, a veteran, Pall Mall smoker, and a coffee drinker. Yet to me, he has always been a giant. He has never worked less than two jobs; until age 71 when he retired, to one job- as a janitor. The man seldom had time to cook, but with my mother often sick he liked to give her breaks when he could. He had a central theme surrounding his meals-meat. That was key with him. And today was meatloaf day.  It was a rare Saturday off work for my dad. The year was 1986. This was no ordinary meal today.

Today, the youngest son would be involved for the first time in Dad’s cooking process.  Me.  I had recently turned 16 and even more recently passed my driver’s license exam. I was becoming experienced using my dad’s 200 dollar station wagon. I knew it was only a matter of time before I got the call.

 “Johnpaul! I need a store run!” It was time. The first official mission I had been called upon by my father to do since getting my paper (license

slang)

 “What’s up Dad?” I nodded.  I wore a sleeveless flannel with a Judas Priest shirt underneath it, Levis and Nikes.  I felt ready for anything.

 “Get these ingredients. Don’t take all day.”  A man of few words my father and with that he handed me the keys and a 10 dollar bill.

The wagon looked good to me that day. She was forest green in most spots, primer in others.  She had an AM radio, vinyl seats, and she often backfired. But she was mine to handle. Mine! I slid into position finding an AM oldies station, the only music option I had. I started her up, and realized soon my family would be having meatloaf, and it was because of me.

My father sat at the kitchen table, lit up a Pall Mall, poured a coffee and waited. He went over the ingredients in his head like a painter that thinks of the colors needed for a masterpiece.

 The ingredients for the meatloaf are as follows:

• 1/2 cup Vitamin D milk

• 2 pounds meat

• 2 eggs, lightly beaten

• 1/4 cup oregano

• 1/4 cup parsley

• 1/2 teaspoon garlic salt

• Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste • ½ cup Italian bread crumbs

He was thinking about the cooking time and temperature; 350 until well done.

When it happened, he heard a crash, profanity, and a backfire. It was me at the bottom of the driveway. I wrecked at the bottom of the driveway, into my neighbor Rev. Ulman’s car. Rev. Ulman was 92, retired and never drove his car. He parked it right across from our driveway.

“You can’t park there Reverend!” I clamored.

“My a##, I can’t park there! You Mahofski boys have been wrecking cars on store runs forever!”

He was right. My brothers had both had accidents as had my father during the great snow of 82.

“Listen here Reverend!”

“Johnpaul!” My dad yelled taking the keys. “Go inside.”

I put my head down knowing it would be a long time until I would get to do another store run. My father and the Reverend spent an hour discussing things, and then surprisingly together headed to the store.

The Reverend even joined us for Meatloaf that night. He made the side dish potatoes and carrots they cooked right in with the meatloaf. Like I said my dad’s idea of sides were seconds on meat.

I did no damage to either vehicle I was hardly moving, yet I spent the summer mowing the good Reverends lawn. It was the Reverends last summer with us. He passed that winter. The Reverend also seemed to have dinners with us a lot after that. My older brother told me the reason the Reverend parked across the street from the driveway was to get the dinners. My brother said he had no one else to eat with. But I figured what did my brother know? My dad didn’t seem to be mad at me though, that confused me. Deep down I was happy to get some vegetables. And like the Reverend said it was the best meatloaf in the world. He’s right I haven’t tasted any as good since.

By John Mahofski