For Dad

Four years ago today, I lost my Dad.  Shortly after that, I started culinary school and I can't help but think that he would have loved hearing about my adventures there.  No doubt he would've loved tasting my kitchen experiments.

As a culinary student, I traveled to Italy and France and my Dad would have been beyond thrilled for me.  I always wanted to have a passport and be a world traveler and he shared that dream with me.  Who knew that food would be my ticket to the life I always wanted for myself?

One of the things that Dad and I always did together was eat.  Back when I still lived in Cleveland, he would drive to my apartment on Sundays and we'd go to a favorite restaurant or a new place we wanted to try, have lunch, and then go to the movies.  When I moved away, he would visit and we'd still incorporate movies and eats into our time together.  That was our thing.

In honor of my dad, I'd like to dedicate this meal to him.  If he were still here with me, I'd make this meal for him and afterwards we'd probably go to see Source Code.

First of all, I'd fire up the grill, a must.  I'd place a basket of homemade tortilla chips on the table accompanied by fresh salsa from my foodie friend Mary's garden.  One of our rules?  Always have some food to eat while you're waiting to eat your meal.

I'd grill some poblano peppers along with some jalapeno and serrano for some heat.  Then I'd process them up with onions and oregano, garlic, some water, salt and pepper.  I'd melt some provolone on top of the burgers and then smother them with the green chile sauce. 

Oh, and I couldn't forget the bun.  Dad loved great bread.  I would run to Zingerman's Bakehouse and pick up a kaiser bun or just a superbly made old school sesame seed bun.  Toast them on the grill, of course, before assembly.

Alongside the burgers, I'd grill some corn on the cob and serve the cobs with softened butter seasoned with salt, pepper, and chopped cilantro.

Finally, we'd have thick-cut sweet potato fries, sliced up in my kitchen, deep fried, and tossed with salt and a pinch of chili powder.

Chilled Coronas with lime in hand, The Mavericks blasting from the speakers, we'd happily stuff ourselves.