In honor of Father's Day ... what (if anything) did your father teach you about cooking?

Same for me. My mother was a mediocre cook. Grandma (my father’s mother) was awful. My father was worse. Anything off the grill (his domain) was shoe leather. I started to learn to cook in college. My epiphany was looking at my budget in my condo after college realizing that I would have to learn to cook or starve. Public television was my savior.


My Dad cooked exactly one thing, hamburgers on the grill, but they sure were good.


Reading this made me realize I didn’t have any cooking men growing up and I didn’t marry one. I don’t recall my dad (who died when I was young) or my stepdad ever being in front of a stove. Great diners, lol. But I do have a male cooking legacy, as my mom and aunts got and passed down their good cooking skills from their own father. His wife, my grandmother’s idea of dinner was to make reservations.

Happy Father’s Day!


This reminds me of a rotatable magnet on our fridge when I was growing up. On one side it said “Mom made dinner” and on the other “Mom made reservations.” I always rooted for reservations.


I tried to teach my boys that they would save more if they learned to cook. One gets it but the other couldn’t care less. Thankfully, his girl likes to cook.

Hah! Funny!

Does he at least do the washing up? Take out the trash?

That reminds me - I have to put in a load of whites. grin

Story, vaguely related to Father’s Day: When I was first a stepfather my stepdaughters would pull clothes out of dressers and closets and throw everything they didn’t decide to wear into the laundry hamper. That lasted exactly one laundry cycle. I taught them how to to do laundry, posted signs with instructions in the laundry room, and turned them (aged 11 and 13 I believe) loose on the world. Completely changed their behavior.

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I hope so, lol. He’s a good boy… man.

Good job.

My father not a cook (neither was my mom to be honest) but he taught me how to make Alaska Eggs - toast with an egg fried in the middle. He called it an Alaska egg as he learned how to make it when he was in the Army and stationed in - you guessed it - Alaska. He was there in the late 50’s mapping the territory became it became a state.

He was an adventurous eater and would try just about anything. I take after him in that way.


Consider grits in your travel mug, sardines in a can , growing tomatoes, and grafting fruit trees. I consider his legacy more growing food than cooking it, but I am also proud of his pre and post Juneteenth “Appalachian region of northern Alabama” food legacy.

He grew tomatoes in Queens, NYC, and I grew up thinking I would never eat another tomato as long as I lived, and look at me now! I still enjoy growing more than eating.


I lost my father when I was 13. I grew up in the country. I remember my father butchering our steer and hog. He built a smoke house and smoked the hams and bacon. He always planted a garden. I remember him making noodles for the stewed chicken and there was always a bowl of cukes and onions in v&o, his favorite. The chili and beans, yes there was beans, I think he made for our neighborhood BBQs but it may have been mother, or maybe I remember her taking over after he died.
My favorite was the hot toddies he made us kids when we had a cold. @MsBean, my father was also stationed in Alaska in the 50s. Camp Sullivan near Whittier. When he returned via Virginia he brought with him a love of kippered herrings and fried grits.


Father In Law - now gone for 22 years this past May. What an influence he was on both H and myself, and his legacy continues! An extraordinary gardener, who grew a huge garden, then proceeded to be a prolific canner, along with MIL, also a generous gifter of produce!
An avid fisherman, eater and entertainer too. He made a mean Bloody Mary from home grown and canned tomato juice, always adding a special touch to it, both flavor-wise and visually speaking. While MIL was the primary cook, she died relatively young, and FIL was then on his own for about 16 years. He totally embraced cooking for himself, and did so creatively, making infusions, decoctions, and whatever he thought would improve his stifado or chili con carne. The canning continued until the end, as did the gardening. We think of and miss him daily. Dear Papoo :heart:


Happy Father’s Day to all the dads. Warm memories to all those missing their dads today.

I’ll leave you with a slice of wisdom from a (late) uncle of mine: “Pie fixes everything.” I’ll add that if pie can’t fix something, at least give its magic a chance. Yep, he knew.


It really is a small world.

I have no idea where my father was stationed or exactly when but it was probably somewhere between 1955 and 1958. My mother stayed in San Fransisco while he was there. I, unfortunately, I can no longer ask him.


@BeefeaterRocks, and @MsBean, your mentions of Whittier, Alaska, and it being a small world - most truly it is at times.

I visited Whittier just once, but it was before the tunnel was built, and you couldn’t drive there. So we took this funky train and made a day trip of it. It ranks as one of the top strangest places I’ve ever visited. Aside from the railway depot, and a very few bars/cafes, there were two forbidding looking towers where everyone in town lived. Something you might imagine from the Gulag Archipelago, or a nightmare, maybe. We had a scare about missing the train home, but thankfully made it. Otherwise, we may have had to stay at the elementary school, or someplace equally desperate.

I hope your respective fathers told you stories from their adventures up there, and I’m sorry they’re not still here.


I have pictures, some with my father in his sheepskin lined flight suit, a pretty desolate looking place.


Yes, desolate is a good word to describe it, and I’d also add forbidding.

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My grandma mostly grew up just northwest of Birmingham, then moved a bit north into eastern KY (my great-grandfather was a coal miner) until she was old enough to join the Air Force and skedaddle. Soup beans and tomato sandwiches (veganized, because I’m one of Those) are two of my comfort foods.


I’ve lived all of my 70 years within 15 miles of where I was born.

On the other hand, my companion in life spent her childhood in some nice warm places due to her father’s army service. The first overseas posting was to Benghazi in Libya in about 1957 (when she was about 4) . She started school in Cyprus (where Cypriot terrorists or, depending on your point of view, independence freedom fighters attacked her school bus). And took her 11+ secondary school examination in Aden(now part of Yemen). Had her father decided to continue his army career, she would have had to spend the next five years at an army boarding school in Germany. He sought and gained a compassionate discharge so she wouldnt have to do that.