A Dad's Love of Cooking Inspires Daughter

My Dad

For as long as I can remember, Sundays at Dad’s has meant waking up to the smell of pancakes freshly cooked from the stovetop, his grin with the crinkled, blue gray eyes and floury hair telling me good morning. One Sunday, I set a timer for 8am, the equivalent of 3am for my 11-year old self, so I could wake up and see how he made them. I remember walking into the kitchen, eyes ricocheting from the containers of white flour to the golden egg yolks to the vibrant orange pumpkin purée. My dad took me through the process of making pancakes and once I understood, I knew cooking to be even more magical than I had ever imagined. And so, I began cooking myself.

It started with making my first batch of brownies which evolved into waking up every morning at 6am for two years so I could practice and make them better. My father began to teach me more, everything from grilled chicken to mango souffles. I have cooked many things over the past The years yet my father’s pancakes will always be home to me. They are his winding laughter and crinkled eyes, the way he pores over his computer every day for work as a computer scientist yet always made time to make me those magical pancakes. And that is why I love cooking: It unites people regardless of distance.