He was a hardworking dreamer, a rare combination. And he was incredibly generous with friends and strangers, regularly tipping 50% or sliding a $50 to the valet driver. He was drawn to behaviors that elicit short-term joy, a quality that made his company addictive.
“Let’s go get Yoohoos and watch Cool Hand Luke.”
Like, OK dad, you don’t have to tell me twice.
“Let’s drive down to Dairy Queen and get a Butterfinger Blizzard.”
No convincing needed.
“Hey Whit, let’s run up to DLM and see if they have capicola. We can make Italian subs.”
Sold, dad. Completely sold.
“I wonder if Arrow Wine has the ingredients for that Key Lime Mojito from last month’s Bon Appetit.” I don’t know Dad, let’s go check it out.
Our side quests were always rich with spicy meats, decadent sauces, and incredible conversations. Oh, and calories. My dad was extra before the term extra ever meant extra. Almost excessive, but in the most sophisticated way.
The biggest size, the most toppings, extra whipped cream, more cheese, extra spicy, imported Italian sweaters, top tier tires, yes to dessert, more butter please kind of extra.
This time of year rolls around and I’m reminded of some of my favorite memories. We were both March Madness fans and I’d settle in on the corner of the couch closest to his chair. He was a University of Cincinnati alumni and throughout the Bobby Huggins era of UC basketball, we became super fans — yelling at the TV and encouraging the boys as if they were our children dependent on our support.
We’d fill out family brackets and I’d always cheat a little, catching a glimpse of his boxy all caps penmanship filled out on each line. His abbreviations, though not intended to be funny, always made me smile. “‘ZAGA” and “NOVA” advancing to the second round. “L’VILLE” loses.
He was always the keeper of the brackets, peppering them with red Sharpie for losses on games we were far too young to stay up to watch. We’d wake up to busted brackets or unexpected success and a short recap on any game drama.
These memories predate Youtube by a decade so I just relied on my dad’s description of buzzer beaters and game-winning alley oops, to which I hung on every word while I ate the cinnamon sugar toast he’d made me, always with extra pools of melted butter.
If I could, I’d make him the biggest platter of nachos with extra everything and yell at the TV all month, until it was time to go to bed.
”But First, Food” columnist Whitney Kling is a recipe developer who lives in southwest Ohio with her four kids and two cats. She is also the owner of Fête in The Silos in downtown Dayton. Email you thoughts to her at hellowhitneyk@gmail.com.
MARCH MADNESS NACHOS
I’d serve these Nacho Bar style because I know he’d say - “Oh Whit, this is real cool.” as he (over) filled his plate.
1 bag tortilla chips
1 lb. ground meat, cooked and seasoned with taco seasoning
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
For cheese sauce:
2 tbsp. butter
2 tbsp. flour
2 cups milk
1 1/2 cup Pepper Jack cheese, shredded
1 1/2 cup cheddar cheese, shredded
Shredded lettuce
Lots of jalapenos
Sliced black olives
Sour cream
Thinly sliced red onion
1 cup guacamole, store bought or homemade
1 cup pico de gallo, store bought or homemade
Lime wedges
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Place the tortilla chips on two foil lined baking sheets and toast for in the oven for 5 minutes. Believe me, this gives them an extra crisp that withstands all the wet toppings. Make the cheese sauce: Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat and then whisk in the flour. When a paste has formed, whisk in the milk. Once that mixture has thickened slightly, stir in the cheese. Continue to stir until cheese is melted and sauce is smooth. Remove the chips from the oven and top with the ground meat and black beans. Place in oven for 5 minutes, just to warm those toppings. Remove from oven and pour the nacho cheese over the two sheets of chips. At this point you can invite your guests to load their plates up with the chip mixture and top with whatever they’d like. And for George, that’d be everything
About the Author
