'sonly a matter of months now I can feel it.
My first food memory, or perhaps most recognizable food memory is also my first musical memory.
I can recall being about three years old at my old North Park residence now. It's 1994.
My dad's a huge fan of old and smelly music. He's a huge Pink Floyd fan, a huge Who fan, and an even worse Buddy Holly, Elvis Costello, Chris Isaak junkie. He still listens to that shit today. Anyways...
I can remember that at round seven o' clock, once my dad had gotten back from work he'd cue up his latest purchases. For some reason my mom and sister weren't present (i think my sister had gymnastics by this time and mom was her chaperone).
We had free reign on the volume and usually things were blaring --although at that time i suspected that was just typical settings for most people. We'd scoot through some tracks while he pilaf'd some long rice. I'd either draw or play around with some toy-cars while he scrambled up some eggs. Eventually things would wind down.
Around this time Pink Floyd had dropped 'The Division Bell'. A distillate of modern work following a huge tour during the late 80's for the band.
I can recall the build up on "What Do You Want From Me".
|Nothing can beat this. There's no amount of money.|
Simultaneously, dad would be on the delivery. My supper-dish would be hovering just before Gilmoure's shreddy intro.
"AAASSS YOU LOOK ARRRROUNDDD THIS ROOM, TONIGHT!!!"
The two would hit in a energizing crescendo that would send us into a quivering, spine-jarring dinner smack-down. We'd lock eyes here and there, peer out into the setting sun on our back door porch, and munch...probably both imaging ourselves in other places thanks to the Nick Mason, Rick Wright, and David Gilmoure assemblage.
"DOOOO YOU WAANT MY BLOOD!?????"
We'd wreck some rice underneath tuna-fortified mushroom sauce. Usually garnished with some diced broccoli, diced-up celery, carrots, and peas. Super salty. I remember waking up sweaty later in the night. Usually finish things up with some homemade corn bread and a glass of milk.
I dunno how we handled it at all back then.
On one separate occasion, i remember getting a little older and critiquing my dad's cooking. While i was never overly objective about any one item, i remember being struck by the eggs he'd fire up once in a while.
I said "hey, i think the eggs are very good" and he looked at me slightly irritated and said "Everything is good!"