I just cooked some salmon for my dad.
This shouldn’t
have felt like a momentous occasion, but it did. A fanfare would have been
appropriate. The meal was so successful. even the fish might have let out a
little cheer - if it wasn’t dead and had vocal cords, that is.
Making food for
my dad hasn’t always been triumphant. We've had a chequered culinary past. The
worst instance was during my early teens, when he taught me how to fry an egg.
It was going well until I attempted to slide it from the pan onto the plate. A
combination of stress and lack of confidence caused the egg to disappear down the paper-thin gap between the oven and the kitchen wall. It was never seen again.
(We laughed a lot.)
Thankfully, no part of today’s meal went astray. The transition from baking tray to
plate was textbook. My dad was impressed by the results. I think I may
finally exorcised the demon of the missing egg.
Perhaps it'll be discovered by a future habitant.